Anne Mccaffrey_ Dragonriders of Pern 20

by Dragon Harper

  Somewhat relieved, Kindan decided to honor the old adage of “leave sleeping Masters lie” and made his way to his afternoon voice lesson with Master Biddle.

  Twenty minutes into his lesson, Master Biddle lowered his baton and looked straight over the heads of the other apprentices to Kindan.

  “I’d say, Kindan, that today is not a good day for you to be using your voice,” Biddle told him politely.

  Red-faced, Kindan could only nod. It was not just a bad day, it was a horrible day, and it was clear that it was going to be the first of many more—for Kindan’s voice seemed determined to settle at neither bass nor tenor, but merely to crack indeterminately whenever he tried even the slightest range.

  “Perhaps,” Biddle suggested kindly, “you’d care to conduct?”

  Kindan’s eyes widened with excitement. If there was one thing that Kindan truly enjoyed, it was conducting others in the making of music. At Biddle’s insistent gestures, Kindan made his way down to the front of the class and, with a nod of thanks, took the baton from the Voice Master.

  Perhaps the day would get better.

  He had just raised it to start the choir singing when a voice barked out, “Kindan!”

  It was Master Caldazon. The color drained out of Kindan’s face and he reluctantly turned the baton back over to Master Biddle.

  Perhaps the day would get worse.

  “It’s only because you’re growing,” Nonala consoled him at the evening meal. At thirteen Turns she was still half a head taller than Kindan, but that was far less than the full head’s difference between them only a Turn before.

  “You’ll find your height,” Verilan added staunchly. Kindan smiled at him but couldn’t help feeling a bit jealous—Verilan was assured a place in the Harper Hall; his skill at copying alone would guarantee it.

  “Just try to stay out of trouble,” Kelsa added sagely, looking up from the slate on which she was writing.

  “Eat, Kelsa,” Kindan and Nonala said in unison. The others all shared a private smile as Kelsa gave them a startled look and wistfully pushed her slate away. Kelsa was always writing. The dark-haired girl was another who Kindan was certain would find a place in the Harper Hall, even if the Hall was traditionally a man’s world; Kelsa’s songs were so original that none could forget them, and she herself had a perfect memory for not only words but notes as well.

  Play her a song once and she’d know it forever; start a melody and she’d write a whole new piece from it. It was dangerous to whistle near Kelsa, for she’d often lurch to a sudden stop—to the consternation of all behind her—and start writing.

  Kelsa and Pellar had an amazing affinity for each other whenever the mute Harper visited from his Fire Hold; she seemed able to take his merest notions and put them to music. Surprisingly to Kindan, Halla, Pellar’s mate, never seemed to mind the way Kelsa and Pellar acted around each other. In fact, she seemed to encourage it, when Kindan would have preferred that she be jealous and keep Pellar away from Kelsa. Despite his recent understanding that he didn’t feel that way about Kelsa, Kindan still wanted the hope that if he ever did, he’d stand some chance.

  He shook his head self-deprecatingly and, noticing that Kelsa had once again dropped her fork in favor of her stylus, cocked his head at her warningly. Nonala noticed his movement and growled at Kelsa.

  “Shards!” Kelsa groaned. “It’s only food.”

  “But you need to eat,” Verilan told her. “Not even you can tune on an empty stomach.”

  “I’m not a workbeast,” Kelsa snarled, glancing at Kindan. “I don’t need so much food that I blunder about all day.”

  “Kelsa!” Nonala said in admonishment and the others all looked at Kelsa angrily.

  Kindan’s face drained of all color; there was no way he could pretend that the remark hadn’t hurt.

  “Well,” Kelsa said in a lame defense of her words, “maybe if you didn’t eat so much—”

  Kindan rose stormily and loudly pushed his plate across the table in front of Kelsa.

  “You eat my portion then,” he snarled as he rushed out of the dining hall.

  It wouldn’t have mattered so much except that Nonala, Kelsa, and Verilan were his only friends at the Harper Hall—except also perhaps Vaxoram, but that relationship was so odd Kindan didn’t know quite what to call it.

  When he had arrived at the Harper Hall three Turns back, Kindan had joined a group of apprentices who had already been together for half a Turn, some as much as a full Turn, and all his attempts to fit in with the others had failed. Out of the other forty apprentices at the time, only Verilan had shown any signs of friendliness. Eventually, Kelsa and then Nonala had joined their ranks, and now striding into the large courtyard in the center of the Harper Hall, Kindan realized that he had become the leader of the group. Perhaps it was because he was older, or perhaps it was because of his defeat of Vaxoram, or perhaps it was because he wasn’t as intensely focused as the other three, he couldn’t say, but there it was. Or perhaps—

  A noise from above him caused Kindan to look up and raise an arm—not for protection but as a perch. With a contented cry, the small bronze fire-lizard alighted on Kindan’s arm.

  “I haven’t got anything for you, Valla,” Kindan said as he reached with his other arm to stroke the fire-lizard’s cheek. Valla chirped in understanding and Kindan’s foul mood evaporated.

  Perhaps that was the other thing that marked Kindan apart from the rest of the apprentices, even his own small group of friends; he was on intimate terms with two Weyrleaders and countless dragonriders.

  There had been a time when that would have been enough for Kindan: To be a harper and to be friendly with the Weyrleaders of Pern had seemed an impossible goal when he was Turns younger.

  Well, Kindan mused, that’s what I thought I wanted.

  Valla, alert to Kindan’s feelings, cocked his head and crooned inquiringly.

  “It’s all right,” Kindan said soothingly, his lips turning up affectionately at the fire-lizard. “I was just woolgathering.”

  The sound of footsteps behind him indicated the approach of Vaxoram. Kindan turned and nodded at him and the older apprentice nodded in turn, then Kindan looked forward again feeling oddly reassured that Vaxoram was nearby.

  Valla cocked his head suddenly, peering upward and then, with a happy cry, launched himself into the air above the courtyard, climbing swiftly over the top of the Harper Hall. Craning his neck to follow Valla’s flight, Kindan was not surprised to see the dragon burst into view in front of the Harper Hall from between.

  Kindan raced across the courtyard and under the arches out of the Harper Hall to the clearing beyond.

  A bronze dragon was just settling on the ground, his head canted up toward Valla hovering close by.

  Kindan paused at the end of the archway, squinting. The dragonrider leapt down from his dragon and reached up to help another smaller person down.

  A new apprentice? Kindan mused. He hadn’t heard anything about a new apprentice. Nor had he heard any drum messages recently, nor was there any gossip about a new arrival.

  “Kindan!” the dragonrider called, gesturing for Kindan to come over, still bundled up in riding gear, his face obscured by a warming scarf.

  “M’tal?” Kindan murmured to himself in surprise, trotting over immediately.

  “I see that Valla is doing well,” the Benden Weyrleader said affably once Kindan got close. M’tal gave Kindan a scrutinizing look and said, “And harpers’ food seems to agree with you!”

  Kindan smiled and nodded, but his attention was on M’tal’s passenger, a young boy who looked to have no more than ten Turns at best. The boy had pale hair and a sickly complexion, but perhaps, Kindan reflected, that was from the cold of between.

  “This is Conar,” M’tal said, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “He’s the youngest of Lord Ibraton.”

  Kindan nodded to the youngster quickly, then looked back to M’tal. The dragonrider’s tone was disturbing and Ki
ndan noticed that M’tal looked weary.

  “Valla,” Kindan called, “tell Master Murenny we’ve got guests.”

  The little fire-lizard chirped once regretfully toward Gaminth, the bronze dragon, then disappeared between.

  M’tal shook his head in wonder. “You’ve trained him that well? Master Murenny will know that we’re coming?”

  Kindan smiled. “Well, he’ll know that something’s up.”

  Kindan noticed a large bag beside Conar and reached for it. “Let me carry that for you.”

  Vaxoram grabbed the bag before Kindan could get a hand on it and hefted it up easily. Kindan nodded in thanks.

  By the time the three of them arrived in the Harper Hall’s courtyard, the area was thronged with curious students.

  “M’tal!” Masterharper Murenny called as he spied the Benden Weyrleader. “Good to see you.”

  “And you,” M’tal said. He closed the distance between them and whispered urgently, “I need to talk with you in private.”

  Murenny nodded, then raised an eyebrow toward Conar.

  “He’s Ibraton’s youngest,” M’tal explained. “I’d like him to stay here.”

  “Of course,” Murenny said, as though the request were not at all unusual. He waved to Kindan, asking, “Can you get him settled in?”

  The duty of welcoming a new apprentice to the Harper Hall should, by long tradition, have fallen to the newest apprentice, which would have been Kelsa. However, Kindan had noticed that Master Murenny had disregarded that tradition with the last two newcomers, assigning the duty to Kindan instead. Kindan had noticed the change but had not commented on it because, after dealing with the first newcomer, he understood the Masterharper’s reasoning: that most apprentices would be affronted and embarrassed to be introduced to the Harper Hall by a girl.

  “I’ll see right to it,” Kindan said, gesturing with his free hand toward the entrance to the Apprentice Dormitory and telling Conar, “We’re heading that way.”

  “And make sure he gets fed!” Murenny called after him.

  Kindan nodded in acknowledgment as he veered right to the stairway leading up to the Apprentice Dormitory, Vaxoram trailing steadily behind them. The dormitory was a huge room, split lengthways by a wall and further subdivided by thick curtains hung strategically throughout.

  “Usually the apprentices are grouped by Turn,” Kindan explained as they walked past several bunk beds. “But as long as the Masters don’t mind, we can move around as much as we like.”

  “I don’t know if I’m going to be an apprentice,” Conar said, speaking for the first time. His voice was piping and his accent was soft, different from the standard speech of Fort Hold or the muted tones that all harpers learned. It reminded Kindan more of a High Reacher than of M’tal’s Benden sound.

  Kindan turned and grinned at him. “If you weren’t, Master Murenny wouldn’t have sent you with me.”

  “I think Father sent me just to get me out of the way,” Conar said with a frown.

  “But surely your harper recommended you?”

  “Our harper is dead,” Conar said. “That’s why Father wanted to send me away.”

  “What?”

  Conar nodded. “We heard just this morning, he was away in the southern part of the Hold.”

  “Was he very old?” Kindan asked. “How’d he die?”

  “They say it was the flu,” Conar said. “But I had the flu months back—”

  “So did I.”

  “And so did Harper Alagar,” Conar said, looking bleak. “Mother didn’t want me to go because I’m the youngest, but Father insisted, saying that our bloodline must survive.” His lips trembled as he asked, “Do you think they’re going to die?”

  “No,” Kindan said, shaking his head firmly. “No one dies from the flu, they just wish they could.”

  “But what about Harper Alagar?”

  “It might have been something else,” Kindan told him, shrugging, and adding with a smile, “I think you might have misjudged your father’s intentions, maybe he just wants a good harper in the family!”

  “But I’m not good at anything,” Conar protested. Then he added reflectively, “Except drawing, perhaps.”

  “Drawing?”

  “Well, doodling, I suppose,” Conar corrected himself self-deprecatingly. “Father always complained that I was always drawing on something, but Harper Alagar said that I showed promise.”

  “Well, if Harper Alagar said so—”

  “But harpers don’t draw.”

  “Harpers do many things,” Kindan told him. “And sometimes we add new skills.” He gestured to one of the cloth partitions and pulled up a corner. “This is where my friends and I sleep,” he said, dropping Conar’s bag. “We’ll leave your stuff here until they decide where to put you.”

  “Your friends?”

  “Verilan, Nonala, and Kelsa,” Kindan said, pointing in turn to the bottom bed of the nearest bunk, and then to the bottom and top beds of the farther bunk.

  “Who sleeps there?” Conar asked, pointing to the top bed of the nearest bunk.

  Kindan smiled and pointed at himself. “But if you wanted to sleep with us, you could bunk with Vaxoram here.” Kindan winked at the older harper as he said to Conar, “But he snores.”

  “My brothers snored,” Conar said, eyeing Vaxoram thoughtfully. “Is he your servant?”

  “Yes,” Vaxoram said quickly.

  “He lost a duel,” Kindan explained. “And he’s an apprentice like the rest of us here.”

  “A duel?” Conar repeated, his curiosity piqued. He saw the scar under Vaxoram’s eye. “What for?”

  “He insulted a girl,” Kindan said, unwilling to dredge up all the details.

  “Nonala and Kelsa sound like girls’ names,” Conar said, looking questioningly at Kindan.

  “They are.”

  “You sleep with girls?” Conar asked in astonishment.

  “Yes,” Kindan replied. “We treat each other with respect and don’t peek, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  Kindan was surprised to see how Vaxoram accepted this statement. It underlined how much the older apprentice had changed in the past ten months.

  Conar blushed and shook his head hastily. “I just—I slept in my own room.”

  “That must have made cleaning it awfully difficult,” Kindan said.

  “I never cleaned it, the help did.”

  “Well here, at the Harper Hall, there is no help,” Kindan told him. “We do everything ourselves.” He walked over to a cabinet and opened it, pulling out a broom and handing it to Conar who grabbed it awkwardly. “In fact, I made this broom myself. It’s my second-best broom.”

  “Harpers make brooms?” Conar repeated in shock, looking down at the example in his hands.

  “Harpers have to know what other people do, and the best way to learn is to do,” Kindan told him. “So we make a broom, clean our own quarters, mend our own clothes.”

  Conar looked at him with eyes wide in surprise. “Was it hard, making a broom?”

  Kindan smiled and nodded. “That’s why I made two.” He pointed to the bristles of the broom. “See how tightly I’ve woven the string through the bristles?” he asked. “That keeps them from falling out.”

  “I don’t know where we get our brooms,” Conar confessed to Kindan. Kindan smiled, delighted to see that the young son of Benden’s Lord Holder would consider such an issue; many Lord Holders’ sons considered themselves above any work. Kindan smiled also because he’d been told countless times by Kelsa and Nonala that going on about making brooms was, as Kelsa had said, “Boring, Kindan, I don’t know why you always blather on about it.” Even Verilan, who was often willing to appear interested in Kindan’s latest fancies, had trouble feigning interest in broom making.

  “Are you hungry?” Kindan asked Conar. “It’s lunchtime here.”

  “It was nearly dinnertime when I left,” Conar replied, looking confused.

  “That’s because Fo
rt Hold is on the other side of the continent and sees the sun six hours later than you do at Benden,” Kindan explained. He lengthened his stride, calling over his shoulder, “Hurry up, lunch will be over soon.”

  But Conar didn’t catch up. Turning back to see what was keeping him, Kindan saw that Conar was doubled over, gasping for breath. Kindan raced back to him. “Are you okay?” he asked, bending down to peer at the pale boy.

  “Can’t keep my breath,” Conar said as he gulped for air. “’Never could, really, but it’s been worse since the flu.”

  “Shards, I wish you’d’ve told me.”

  Conar shook his head. “Didn’t want to be a bother.”

  Kindan nodded, understanding the boy’s feelings all too well. “I could carry you.”

  Conar gave him a look of horror.

  “Okay, catch your breath,” Kindan said, silently hoping that there would still be something to eat when they got to the Dining Hall.

  They were still waiting when Murenny and M’tal appeared, heading back to the landing meadow beyond the Harper Hall.

  “Kindan,” Murenny called, “just the lad we wanted to see!” He paused as he caught sight of Conar. “You’re not trying to race him to death?”

  “No, Master,” Kindan replied. “I didn’t realize Conar had short breath.”

  “He should see the Masterhealer,” Murenny said, gazing thoughtfully at the small boy, then turning his gaze toward M’tal with a questioning look. M’tal nodded in reply. Murenny frowned for a moment before saying to Kindan, “We’ve got another project for you.”

  “It doesn’t involve the Records, does it?” Kindan asked fearfully.

  “I’m afraid it does,” M’tal told him, smiling sympathetically at Kindan’s apparent discomfort. “But you’ve done so well—”

  “By now,” Murenny cut in with a twinkle in his eyes, “I suspect Kindan understands the reward for a job well done.”