The Master Harper of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  He was asleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes ...

  "All right, where's the key?" a voice said in his ear as a hand shook him roughly.

  The little room was dark, and only one glowbasket was open in the outer chamber, but the long boots on the figure by his bed told him that F'lon was up and anxious to leave.

  "Oh, sorry, F'lon."

  F'lon snapped his fingers for the key as Robinton fumbled for it in his pants. "If I find that the High Reaches contingent took another dragon back, I shall be quite annoyed."

  "If one hasn't," Robinton replied, "I shall be."

  He gave the key over and lay back, wishing he'd been allowed to sleep round the clock as he heard F'lon stride noisily across the outer room, fumble the key into the lock, and swing the door open so roughly that it crashed into the wall.

  "I'd better go after him," he murmured to himself, but he consoled himself with the thought that C'vrel would have whisked the High Reaches trio off long before now.

  He was right. F'lon must have just received that information from Hayon when Robinton reached the top of the stairs, for the bronze rider glared fiercely over his shoulder at him. Then, in one of his lightning changes of mood, F'lon smiled and waved a hand.

  The tension drained out of his face, and he sauntered over to see what he could find on the depleted refreshment table. Hayon and his younger sisters and brothers formed a disconsolate group to one side of the hearth; on the other, Lady Hayara sat with her sisters and brothers who had come to bear her company.

  Robinton made his way down the stairs and stopped one of the drudges. "Would you know if the MasterHarper is still here?"

  She pointed to the hallway and then crooked her finger to the left to indicate the small dining room.

  He found Master Gennell with Lord Grogellan and the MasterHealer.

  "F'lon is up," he told them, "and I gather the High Reaches folk are long gone."

  Master Gennell grinned; Grogellan chuckled and asked, "Master Ginia, did you get a chance to assess Lord Faroguy's condition?"

  She nodded. "His son will see that he has the best of care for however much longer he is with us," she said solemnly. "It is a condition of the blood for which there is no cure for a man his age." "Does Fax know this?" Robinton asked bluntly.

  Grogellan snorted and Master Gennell looked about to reproach his journeyman, but Ginia raised her hand.

  "That young man knows a great deal too much about too many matters that are not actually the concern of a small' – and she stressed the adjective – "holder."

  "Who might not remain small," Robinton said. "That's a very ambitious and greedy person."

  "You had a run-in with him at High Reaches?" Gennell asked.

  "Not a run-in, Master, but, as I felt obliged to tell you when I returned from that contract, he does not permit harpers to teach his holders basic skills."

  Grogellan raised his eyebrows in surprise and turned to Gennell. "Is that true?"

  "Yes, I fear it is."

  "But surely someone as thorough as Faroguy would have insisted."

  "Faroguy is old, tired and sick," Robinton went on, "and remarks that the Charter allows autonomy within a hold."

  "Which begs the question of whether the hold in question allows the Charter in," Master Ginia said, catching the point. At Robinton's nod, she went on, "Frankly, I don't like such an attitude. Intolerant and high-handed."

  "An educated cotholder is far more useful and productive," Grogellan said.

  "From what I understood, Fax's cotholders had better produce as much as he expects them to," Robinton said, "and no excuses allowed."

  "I shall give the problem considerable thought," said Gennell.

  "As will I," Lord Grogellan said. He glanced over at the door and rose. "I see our rider has come. Will you be back at the Hall soon, Robinton?"

  "I'm contracted here, Lord Grogellan, but it's nice of you to enquire."

  "Keep me informed, Rob," Gennell said, not needing to make specific what information he wanted.

  Master Ginia, however, startled the journeyman by standing on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his cheek. "I promised your mother I would," she said, and then left him gawping after her.

  As he felt his cheeks reddening, he could only hope that no one else had seen her salutation. That wasn't his mother's style, but he smiled as Ginia disappeared down the hall.

  Raid took hold with no faltering and no hesitation. He called all his Craftsmen to a meeting the next day and asked if there was any business that he needed to go over with any of them. Then he announced that his sister, Maizella, would exchange her espousal promises after the usual period of mourning, and that Lady Hayara would remain in the Hold until he could find a spouse of his own. He naturally would arrange suitable employment for his numerous half-brothers and half-sisters.

  If the speech was stuffy and stilted, there was no question that Raid would not honour his commitments. But Robinton quietly seethed at the awkward way the young man went about it. There were so many ways in which a bitter pill could be sweetened, but Raid seemed to know none of them, with all his blunt speaking and total disregard for the feelings of others. Only Maizella could rebuke him. Lady Hayara merely regarded him with filling eyes and numbly accepted his orders. Fortunately, she was a capable woman and the ordering of the Hold had long been hers, so there was no friction on that score. Even Raid knew her value to him. He didn't even begin looking about for an appropriate girl until his father had been gone three full months.

  But something had noticeably gone out of the Hold which Maidir had managed so capably and ... circumspectly. Holders with problems did not discuss them with Lord Raid: he told them what they had to do and that was that. Robinton did what he could to soften the Lord Holder's unequivocal statements, obliquely suggesting that Raid was still numbed by his father's tragic demise; and that, while he was well trained and competent, he still lacked the touch which only experience would give him.

  One day, after Robinton had been nearly two turns at Benden Hold, Raid called him to his office.

  "I hear a few things about you, Journeyman, that I do not like," he said, coming to the point immediately. "I am Lord Holder, and what I say is how things will be. I do not need you soothing down disgruntled holders or denigrating my efforts behind my back. You may leave."

  "Leave?" Robinton felt as numb as he had suggested Raid was.

  "Leave. I hereby release you from your contract." Raid tossed a pouch of marks across the table to Robinton. "I shall request a replacement from the MasterHarper. Without prejudice, of course, since you have discharged your duties with efficiency and energy." "Efficiency" and "energy' were two of Raid's favourite words.

  "But I ..."

  "You may drum that bronze rider friend of yours to convey you back. Give this" – he fielded a little roll of hide to join the pouch to Master Gennell. "You do not suit me as the Hold harper." Then he rose to his feet, to indicate the meeting was over.

  For once robbed of words, Robinton scooped the two items off the table and, pivoting on one heel, strode out of the office, wanting very much to slam the door behind him.

  Without a word to anyone, as much because he was embarrassed and furious about his dismissal, he went up to his rooms and packed his things. He had to visit the schoolroom, where Maizella was rehearsing the secondary children; she must have known about his dismissal, because she only glanced up to see who was entering the room, then averted her eyes, saying nothing to him, continuing to listen to the recitations. He collected all his music and notes; and though he smiled at his former pupils, he said nothing.

  Better to leave it at that, he thought, as he ran up the Tower steps three at a time. He was breathless at the top, but he had also worked off some of the frustration and anger he felt at such an unfair dismissal. Raid was just too inexperienced to realize how he offended his holders, or that a harper could be a good resource for management.

  Hayon was on watch and smiled as Robinton
entered. But whatever he was about to say by way of greeting died before he could sound it.

  "I'm allowed to send a message," Robinton said, unable to keep the edge out of his voice. He picked up the sticks and rattled out a terse request for conveyance. Hayon's eyes widened and he looked about to speak again, but held his peace.

  It was awkward, waiting there for a response from the Weyr, but Robinton was not in a mood to placate anyone and Hayon was sensitive enough to feel it. The journeyman sank back down on the stool and waited, sipping at his klah during the interminable time it took for the distant drums to sound. A dragon would be there presently.

  "All right, what's wrong, Rob?" Hayon asked finally.

  "Your brother does not find me a suitable harper."

  Hayon regarded him steadily. "My half-brother," he said with a deliberate emphasis on the degree of the relationship, "sometimes does not use the wits he was born with. If he was. Does he know all that you do to calm down the experienced holders he keeps insulting?"

  "That is precisely why I am to leave, Hayon. Tell Lady Hayara I'm sorry to go ...

  "She'll really miss you," Hayon said staunchly.

  "I certainly don't envy her. Nor you."

  Hayon gave a little smile. "I'll survive. At least, I've always known that I would have to."

  "There's that," Robinton said and extended his hand, which Hayon clasped heartily in both of his.

  "Tell you one thing, Maizella's going to miss you at her espousal."

  "I think not," Robinton said, but he smiled without rancour. "Here comes your dragon. Oh, and if it's F'lon, warn him that my brother's raging over him paying so much attention to Naprila."

  "Oh?" Robinton had missed that. No, Lord Raid would not want his half-sister seeing too much of a dragonrider, though he rather thought that Lord Maidir would have been receptive. Maidir had known that life in a Weyr could be preferable to working a hold.

  When Hayon rose to escort Robinton down the stairs, the journeyman shook his head. "Let's not give Raid any cause for complaint about my departure. I want out as quietly and inconspicuously as possible."

  Hayon chuckled. "You will have to work hard to be inconspicuous, Rob. I shall miss you badly."

  With a final nod of thanks, Robinton started down, collected his carisaks from his room and made his way down the main stairs and out of the door without seeing anyone.

  F'lon and Simanith had come for him. Robinton did see Raid at the office window, watching him sling his things up to F'lon to arrange on Simanith's back. Then, with a good leap of his long legs, he made it to Simanith's cocked forearm and grabbed F'lon's gloved hand to help him the rest of the way.

  "Sacked you, did he?" said F'lon, grinning and tossing an airy wave in the direction of the office window.

  "Did you know he would?" Robinton asked, wondering how he had missed the change in Raid's attitude.

  "I hoped he would. You can do better elsewhere."

  "Benden's a good Hold," Robinton protested out of loyalty and truth.

  "Under Maidir, yes. Raid's going to have to learn some tact." "You heard talk about that?"

  F'lon gave a shrug. "Hang on." And Simanith gave the head-snapping leap skyward.

  Robinton did feel a lump in his throat at leaving Benden Hold. He had been happy there as a child, and so proud to have been asked to come back as a journeyman for Maidir. Really, he had done his best as he had been taught. Where had he gone wrong?

  "Nowhere, as I interpret the matter," Master Gennell said when Robinton had his interview. "Young Lord Raid has a lot to learn about handling his people." The MasterHarper sat with steepled fingers and a sympathetic expression on his face. "He will, though. He had good training. And the results of his current practices will show him the error of his ways."

  "Really?" Robinton gave a snort of disbelief.

  "Oh, I think so." Then Master Gennell grinned. "Actually I can use your talents in at least six other positions. You may choose."

  That was how Robinton came to spend the next two turns at Tillek Hold. And found the first love of his life. The only two drawbacks to the posting would be the awful weather which never seemed to include many sunny days, and the very sharp, foxy white wine the slopes of Tillek hills produced. He would also start the extra study for his Mastery, which included Applications of the Charter and the Precepts of Arbitration and Mediation, advanced aspects of Harper Hall's purview. The Tillek Hold MasterHarper, Minnarden, had agreed to undertake his tuition, since Minnarden attended the Hold's court sessions. Robinton was looking forward to working under Minnarden, and his mother thought well of this Master.

  "Solid man for basics, and a kind person too," she'd said. "You'll have no trouble with him." She'd added one of her mischievous smiles, slanting her gaze up at her tall son. "He dandled you on his knee at one point." She laughed as Robinton grimaced. "Don't worry, love. He won't embarrass you by remembering."

  Robinton certainly hoped not. He didn't think such a reminiscence would be good for his authority over a class.

  He and young Groghe, Grogellan's third son, made the trip on runner-back: some of the good Ruathan stock which were so popular, plus a pack-beast for their supplies and effects. Groghe was going to spend a Turn in Tillek Hold, stewarding for Lord Melongel. Lord Holders often rotated their sons in hold management, or fostered them outright from time to time.

  Groghe was Rob's age, an energetic young man who resembled his mother, Lady Winalla, more than his father. He made the arduous trip pleasant for, despite a tendency to make all the decisions about camping and hunting and duties, he was a sturdy traveller and a good companion. His taste in songs leaned to the bawdy but Robinton didn't mind obliging him in the evenings, especially when they sheltered overnight in one of the all-male holds – miners, herders and foresters – on their way. For the simpler melodies, Groghe sometimes accompanied him on a pipe.

  On the way, Groghe had a small errand to do for his father. One of Lord Grogellan's high mountain holders was having trouble with a neighbour who was on Tillek Hold lands, not Fort. Groghe was to see what he could do to solve a problem which had now existed for several turns.

  "I'm fed up with his complaints, both written and at Gathers," Lord Grogellan had said. "I've sent messages to Melongel, who's equally disgusted with the case. With Journeyman Robinton along, you should be able to solve the problem. A matter of a mutual wall, I understand. Making a mountain out of a very small pile of dirt."

  When they came down the side of the mountain, heading north, they saw the two cots, both substantial in size. The Fort man was a herder, the Tillek man a forester. The cots were separated by several dragons' lengths, and in plain sight was a collapsed stone wall, five or six lengths long, which separated field from forest.

  Perhaps a storm had brought down a swathe of trees, smashing into the structure and damaging a long stretch. They could also see the shaggy coats of herd-beasts being driven from the forest, with angry shouts by the men doing the driving and furious cries from three men waiting on the field side. The drivers were not sparing of their clubs in getting the woolly beasts back on their own side of the wall.

  "Fix that sharding wall, Sucho, or I'll kill the next ones that come into my plantation!"

  The driver's bellowed threat carried easily to the two travellers.

  "We would arrive in the middle of it," Groghe said to Robinton with a grimace. "Ah, well! It's to be done!"

  They had indeed hoped to arrive before dark, so that they could have a quick assessment of the problem. Now the issue would have to be met immediately.

  "A wall has two sides," Robinton remarked and grinned.

  "Good evening to you," Groghe said, raising his voice.

  The driver had stopped at the pile of stones and, shielding his eyes from the glare of a sun close to setting, peered at the two riders. The holder whirled, raising a sturdy staff, and his sons -they resembled him too much to be anything but – assumed defensive stances.

  "Groghe of For
t Hold and Journeyman Harper Robinton," Rob called out, raising his hand high.

  The two older men exchanged glances. "You've been complaining again to Lord Groghe, Sucho?" the forester shouted, grinning maliciously. "Welcome, holder and harper. You must spend the night with me and mine." He gestured to his two sons.

  "We'll be grateful for shelter, I assure you," Robinton said at his most gracious, close enough to the wall now to halt his runner and swing down from the saddle. He was taller than any of them, and he would use that to his advantage.

  Groghe dismounted as well, and stood firmly at Robinton's side.

  "My father, Lord Grogellan, wants this settled and has sent me and Journeyman Robinton to be sure that this time the matter is finished!"

  That was all that was needed to send both men into loud and conflicting claims: Tortole insisted that the wall had fallen on Sucho's side, so it was up to him to repair it; Sucho claimed that if Tortole hadn't been so clumsy in felling the line of trees so that they damaged the wall, there wouldn't have been a problem.

  Robinton then noticed that the remains of the uprooted trees on Tortole's side were well covered in moss, suggesting that the stumps had been there for many turns. That the storm had done more damage to the forestation – knocking down a swath that continued on up and down the hillside – than to the meadows of the herder was clear, but why two isolated families would not combine to replace the dividing wall was not.

  "Enough!" Groghe shouted.

  "Quite enough," Robinton said into the sudden stillness. "A wall has two sides, my friends."

  The response was blank looks. The younger men muttered together.

  "Of course a wall has two sides," Sucho said, scowling.

  "Your side and his side," Robinton said patiently. "You build your side and he will build his side."

  Sucho and Totrole goggled at him. Groghe turned a chuckle into a cough.

  "The wall was not one stone thick, was it?" Robinton went on, looking sternly over the group. He could see that the wall had been wide and high enough to keep the herd-beasts from easily jumping over to reach the lush grass where the swath had been cleared.