The Master Harper of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  One evening, at Red Cliff Hold, he was astonished when the runner he had spoken to as he left Harper Hall arrived, bearing a CraftHall reply for the holder. Robinton waited for a chance to speak to him and, by asking him to take a letter directed to his mother at the Harper Hall, managed a few private words with him.

  "Didn't expect to see you here," Robinton said, flourishing the letter as if that was what was under discussion.

  "How do you think Master Gennell knows where not to send harpers?" the runner said. "Station Masters are the best ones to ask, by the way, should you be in doubt." Taking the letter from Robinton, he altered his tone and spoke more loudly. "Wal, now, Harper, I'll be sure to take good care a' this "un fer ye."

  When Robinton had finished his contract in Keroon, Master Gennell sent him on to Nerat – to a settlement which was, happily, devoted to the old ways. Robinton was able to relax his vigilance and do a proper job of instructing the young in their traditional songs and ballads. He was relieved to see that dragonriders often visited this area, collecting fresh fish for the Weyr. He always sent back greetings to F'lon and tried to speak to the dragons. They would look at him, surprised, but they never responded.

  He returned in the spring to the Harper Hall. One look at his mother had him in a panic. She was nothing but skin and bones, all the beauty leached out of her face, with dry hair and a hard cough constantly racking her. She leaned on Petiron to walk even the shortest distance.

  "You're not all right, Mother, not at all," Robinton said, glaring at Petiron who nodded, his expression doleful and worried.

  "That's why you're home, Rob," Ginia said when he stormed into the Healer Hall in search of her.

  He stood stock-still. "Why I'm home?" He could not seem to comprehend what her words implied.

  She pressed his arm, her face full of regret and pity. "Yes, I know she's wanted you here. She doesn't have much time left."

  "But ..." Robinton clenched his fists at his sides. "I've only just lost Kasia!"

  "I know, Rob dear, I know." He could see the tears in her eyes.

  "She's my dearest friend. All I can do is be sure she feels no pain."

  He nodded acceptance of that, feeling the coldness of grief yet to come spreading throughout his body.

  "You must help her. And Petiron."

  "Her, yes. Petiron ..."

  "He has lived for her, Robinton."

  And I never had the chance to live for my Kasia, Robinton thought bitterly.

  If he had thought the days after his spouse's death were bad, those he endured while his mother slowly lost all strength, and finally the breath in her body, were worse. Without discussing it, either he or Petiron was with her, Robinton playing her songs, even the humorous setting of "Got into, get out of," which made her smile and even chuckle. Petiron played for her too: music seemed to soothe her.

  It was Ginia who roused Robinton from an uneasy sleep before dawn three days later. "The end is near."

  He threw on pants and shirt and followed her, filled with dread.

  The end was unexpectedly peaceful. He held one of Merelan's hands and Petiron the other, and she managed a feeble smile and a press of her gaunt fingers. Then she sighed, as Kasia had done, and was still. Neither man could move. Neither wished to relinquish the lifeless hand he held.

  It was Ginia who gently unwrapped their fingers and laid first one hand, then the other across her frail chest.

  Petiron broke first, sobbing bitterly. "How could you leave me, Merelan? How could you leave me?"

  Robinton looked up at the man who was his father and thought that Petiron was taking Merelan's death as a personal affront. But Petiron had been possessive of her all her life. Why should he change at her death? And yet, Robinton felt immense pity for the man.

  "Father ..." he said, rising slowly to his feet.

  Petiron blinked and looked at his son as if he shouldn't be there.

  "You must leave. She was all I ever had. I must be alone with her in my grief."

  "I grieve, too. She was my mother."

  "How can you possibly know my pain?" The older man clutched at his chest, fingers digging into fabric and flesh.

  Robinton almost laughed. He heard an inarticulate sound come from Ginia and held up his hand to answer for himself. "How could I possibly know, Petiron? How can you say that to me? I know far too well how you must feel right now."

  Petiron's eyes widened and he stared at his son, remembering. Then his sobbing renewed, his spirit so devastated by Merelan's death that Robinton, moving without thought, came round the bed and took his father in his arms to comfort him.

  Petiron never wrote another note of music. Merelan had been his inspiration. Her death altered him as she could have wished he had altered during her lifetime. He and Robinton never became friends, but Petiron grew easier in his son's company. Master Gennell remarked on how much grief had mellowed the man. The apprentices and journeymen studying composition might not have agreed, for he was as difficult as ever to satisfy, but none of them could fault the depth and knowledge he was able to drill into their heads.

  Master Gennell took up where Minnarden had left off in Tillek Hold, bringing Robinton on in his Mastery studies. Gennell worked him ruthlessly on Charter clauses and mediation techniques, had him read endless accounts of arbitration and Conclave proceedings.

  Such intense study, and Gennell turned into a drill master as exacting as Petiron, was a good way to distract a heart that was grieving, and Robinton was truly grateful to his Master.

  Robinton was resident in the Hall when Betrice died of a sudden failure of her heart. So he was able to help Master Gennell deal with that loss. The entire Hall felt it, from the youngest apprentice to Petiron; and Halanna, now a sedate and plumply happy spouse and mother, put in an unexpected appearance.

  "I owe that woman a great deal," she said. "Almost as much as I owed your mother, Master Robinton." She gave him an odd glance out of the corner of her eye. "In spite of what a nasty child I was then, it was those two who finally stuffed some sense in my conceited head. May I sing for her, with you? And for Merelan? I've always kept my voice going, you know."

  "I didn't know, but I'm glad you have. My mother would be pleased," Robinton replied and he meant it.

  So Halanna sang the music Petiron chose for the occasion, and her voice was warmer and more expressive than it had ever been while she had trained at the Harper Hall. In fact, it was such a fine voice that Master Gennell, once he had dried his eyes, wistfully commented that it was a shame there were so few women training at the Harper Hall these days.

  "Can't you find us some, Robinton, in your travels?" Master Gennell asked. "To be sure, your mother was unusually dedicated, but here's Halanna still singing and I understand that Maizella does too. Find me some new females, will you?"

  "You may be sure I'll look," Robinton replied fervently.

  Anything to bring back the twinkle in his Master's eyes.

  And he did look, listening to many hopeful girls as well as boys and trying to interest the better voices in coming to the Harper Hall to be trained.

  Robinton attained his Mastery the following Turn and continued to be sent by Master Gennell to handle difficult Holders, substitute for ailing harpers or to attend Gathers in distant holds. He was also requested as an arbiter in Hold and Hall. When he could, he drummed to Benden Weyr and asked for F'lon's assistance – and listened to the dragonrider talking about his son, Fallamon, who was being fostered by Manora, the dignified weyr girl Robinton had noticed when S'loner and Maidir died. It was no surprise to Robinton to learn that, three Turns after Fallarnon's birth, she gave F'lon a second son: Famanoran.

  F'lon had two worries. The first, and more important, was that the lazy Nemorth would never get off her couch in the queen's weyr for another mating flight so that he could become Weyrleader in place of the four-man leadership of C'vrel, C'rob, M'ridin and M'odon. The second was that no one would take him seriously about the threat posed by the "ups
tart Lord Holder Fax'.

  Jora seemed to favour C'vrel, which further infuriated F'lon.

  "Ever since S'loner took Lord Maidir between, C'vrel's been afraid to "annoy" the Lord Holders. I can understand him treading quietly around Raid – and there's another hide-bound idiot ..." He glared at Robinton when the harper made a mild protest. "Well, he is. Does everything the way his father did ... only Maidir was not only far more tolerant but also fairer-minded. He does send a scrupulous tithe to the Weyr, for which we are all grateful." F'lon grimaced. "I hate being beholden to the man!"

  "It is his duty," Robinton said mildly.

  F'lon scowled. "Well, we'll teach him his duty when I've flown Nemorth." Now his grimace was darker. "I dread it, I do, Rob. Jora's a fat slug. We oversee what Nemorth eats so she'll be able to climb to a decent height for her flight... but she has to be bullied into the air. Jora!" He raised his hands skyward in disgust and frustration.

  "Imagine having a Weyrwoman who's afraid of heights!"

  "I've often wondered how that happened," Robinton murmured.

  F'lon snorted. "My father fancied her over the other candidates. There were only four, so low has the Weyr sunk in the estimation of the people of Pern it is pledged to protect."

  That made Robinton sit up. "The Red Star's returning ..."

  "No." F'lon pushed that notion away with one hand. "Not yet. For which I am grateful. Not for another three decades, by my reckoning."

  "You'll be an old rider by then."

  "I'll have two sons to take over for me, should I happen to fail..." F'lon showed his white teeth in a challenging grin. Then his expression turned grim again. "They'll know what the Weyr stands for. They'll know – from me-' he declared, prodding his chest, "what dragonriders are meant to do."

  "What's the latest on Fax?" Robinton would never dignify the man with his assumed title. As it was, there never had been a Council of Lord Holders, CraftMasters and the Weyr to confirm his holding at High Reaches, usurping Bargen, if the young Lord Holder still lived.

  "Oh, he's busy." F'lon's grin turned wickedly malicious. "Still can't get any male issue, and he's ploughing any pretty girl he can find. Isn't safe to be female in High Reaches any longer. And his duelling? Ha!" He raised both hands again. "He's got a grand way to rid himself of any who'd oppose him. He insults a man to the point of a fight... and he always wins. Then he puts those oafs and dimwits of his in any prosperous hold... and continues to encroach whenever he can."

  "I'd heard."

  Robinton had spied Gennell's invisible minion from time to time in his travels and patently ignored him. They had met, more formally, in Master Gennell's office on two occasions.

  "Call me Nip, if my lack of name offends you," the runner had said with an amused grin. "I nip in and out, you see!"

  Master Gennell had smiled at their confrontation. "And you're never to see him, Rob."

  "I know," the young MasterHarper had replied.

  But he also heard reports of Nip's forays.

  "What had you heard, Rob?" F'lon asked.

  "I know he's nibbling away on the borders of Crom and Nabol.

  He daren't try his tricks in Tillek or Telgar. Both Melongel and Tarathel have mounted border guards with hill beacons to spread an alarm."

  "Good, good," F'lon said, nodding approval. "But tell me when the rest of our languid Lords are going to take action against him.

  They will have to, you know."

  Robinton had had arguments with both Lord Grogellan of Fort and Lord Ashmichel of Ruatha. Groghe, fortunately, was more concerned than his father was. The Ruathan heir, Kale, had not been present when Robinton had sounded out Ashmichel. That Lord Holder had discounted Robinton's apprehensions, which worried him still more, since Ruatha not only bordered Nabol but was one of the most prosperous Holds, due to the fine runner-beasts it bred.

  They would be a fine prize for Fax when he turned his covetous eyes to the grasslands of Telgar and Keroon. "It's foreign to the nature of Lord Holders to distrust one of their number," Robinton said flatly.

  "And to ignore what they don't wish to admit."

  "True. I'm doing my best to worry them."

  "Did you know that he's espoused a Ruathan Blood?"

  "No, I didn't." Robinton leaned forward intently. "Who?"

  "Gemma." And when Robinton frowned, unable to place her, F'lon identified her: "She may be only a third cousin, but she's got Ruathan Blood if Fax wanted to use that as a pretext to Hold there. A come-down from being nephew or espousing a daughter."

  "How many has he espoused now?" Robinton demanded, having heard of far too large a number for any sane man to contend with.

  "As many as he now has holdings, I suspect," F'lon said, and added with a lascivious leer, "The man's insatiable, and not just for land."

  "Surely there's a limit ..."

  "Let us hope so," agreed F'lon.

  The Turn after the birth of Famanoran, Nemorth rose in a mating flight and it was Simanith who flew her. F'lon became Weyrleader at last. M'odon, the oldest of his riders, died quietly in his sleep.

  This, too, was a bitter winter. Twenty-four dragonriders fell ill of a fever, and the Weyr echoed with the sounds of keening dragons.

  Nemorth produced nineteen dragons in her second clutch – not enough to make up the losses.

  The dissatisfaction with the Harper Hall was insidiously spreading.

  There had been several cases of harpers being waylaid on their routes and beaten. The worst incident occurred in Crom where the young tenor, Evenek, had been specifically employed by the Lord Holder, Lesselden, to entertain. Evenek had had to audition for Lesselden and his Lady, Relna, who wished to have someone who could instruct instrumentalists to accompany her and to help put on the little evening plays she was fond of writing. Evenek sent back a runner message that he had accepted the position since Lady Relna had a good voice, was pleasant enough and he felt confident he could satisfy her requirement to train players. He added that he felt he would stick to the music and the musical training, since Lord Lesselden had made it quite clear that the contract did not require him to teach the "usual harper nonsense'. Master Gennell had mentioned some concern for Evenek, but he and the other Masters agreed that the tenor would be clever enough to manage -especially since the terms of the contract had been so specific.

  The runner – not Nip this time – came directly to Master Gennell, not even stopping at the Fort Runner Station as the messengers usually did. Immediately, Master Gennell called Robinton.

  "Evenek's been severely beaten and thrown out of the Hold. In fact, if a runner hadn't found him he'd probably be dead by now. Go get a healer, and pick five of the biggest, strongest apprentices to go with you. The runners got him over the Crom border into Nabol to Station 193. D'you know its location?"

  Robinton did, since he had often studied the disposition of Runner Stations. He gathered up the group, including the sturdiest healer out of the journeymen presently in the Healer Hall, and mounted them on the best of the runner-beasts available. They made it to the Station, riding hard and changing mounts at Ruatha.

  Evenek had been very kindly attended by the Station Master, who had brought in the nearest healer he could reach.

  "I've done what I can." Germathen, the healer, shook his head clearly distressed by the incident. "They broke every bone in his hands. They also mangled his throat so badly I'd be surprised if he ever sings again."

  "Does he know who did it?" Robinton demanded once he had calmed down the vengeful mutterings of his companions: hard to do with rage consuming him, but he knew that retaliation – however satisfying that might be – would achieve nothing helpful for the Harper Hall.

  Germathen shrugged. "I think he does, but he won't say – and talking is painful enough for him. I've set all the bones I could, but

  I'd wish for someone more adept than I to check my settings." "Can he travel?"

  Robinton noticed the Station Master's interest in the answer.

&
nbsp; "If you take it by slow stages," Germathen replied. "In fact, I think Evenek will not feel safe until he is back in the Harper Hall." "If any of us are safe there ..." one of the apprentices muttered.

  "Fort and Ruatha would protect the Harper Hall to the last man," Robinton said firmly. "May I see Ev now?"

  The wounded man had been installed in the last, and safest, of the connecting dormitory rooms in the Station. Three older runners were seated outside his door, while the Station Master's spouse sat inside, sewing quietly. She rose, one hand reaching for a stout cudgel, when the harpers entered.

  Evenek was asleep, his hands swathed in bulky bandages and cushioned by pillows. His face was a mass of bruises, and his neck was covered in bandages as far down as his chest. Robinton was sick to his stomach, and one of the other harpers abruptly retreated from the room. As Robinton stood there, a bitterness welled up in him of a strength he had not imagined himself capable of feeling -far deeper and more primitive even than that which had assailed him after Kasia's death. He thought briefly of asking for F'lon's help to transport Evenek, but with such injuries the cold of between was inadvisable.

  The joy and relief in Evenek's eyes, his broken attempts to thank them, had an even more profound effect on those who had come to his aid. He managed to indicate that he would endure any discomfort which travelling might cause him.

  "Home ... the Hall ..." he kept repeating.

  Germathen and the healer journeyman had a quiet professional discussion and told Robinton that they could start back the next morning. If those in the Runner Station looked relieved, they had succoured Evenek when he most needed their help and Robinton made certain that the Harper Hall stood in their debt.

  "To do that to a harper, Robinton, is something I never thought to see," the Station Master said, shaking his head. "I don't know what the world is coming to, I don't."

  After dinner, the harpers – quietly – entertained those at the Station. They brought Evenek safely back to the Harper Hall, where his condition reduced Master Gennell to tears. Later MasterHealer Ginia and her assistant, Oldive, having had a chance to assess his injuries, announced that while they thought they could give him back the use of his hands, he might not be as adept on some instruments as before. About his voice, they could not yet give any reassurance: the trachea had been badly damaged.