The Master Harper of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  "By the Egg!" Robinton flopped down into the comfortable chair which Gennell had occupied and wondered if he would ever fit in it as well as the dear old man had hoped. He had already made – or had made for him – his first official decision. He devoutly hoped it was the right one.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Many of Robinton's duties that Turn were simply to keep the ordinary daily doings of the Harper Hall going smoothly, accepting new apprentices, conferring journeyman status on those qualifying, and confirming one Master: lerint, who took over from the frail Gorazde.

  F'lon was ecstatic with his friend's rise to the MasterHarpership and would come at the roll of a drum message to take him to any Hold or Hall that required the presence of the MasterHarper.

  Robinton often availed himself of that courtesy since, in his role as mediator, he did a great deal of travelling. Sometimes it was the hope that he'd find a new candidate for the Harper Hall, recommended by the youngster's harper. But only one girl singer was brought to his attention and her parents felt she was too young, yet, to be away from home. She was sixteen, with a sweet voice he felt could be trained up, but she also had a young lad from the next hold whom she was keen to espouse. Singing was second best.

  Then there were his necessary appearances at Gathers and the once-a-Turn Conclave to which Fax was never invited and where his name was never mentioned, even when Robinton, Melongel or Tarathel tried to initiate a discussion about the man's totally illegal usurpation of power.

  "Why do you fuss so?" the grumpy, aged Lord Holder of Igen demanded. His face was a sea of lines, graven by squinting all his life at the hot sun over his Hold. "Fax is, I do believe, a nephew of old Faroguy and if his sons..."

  "Farovene was killed..."

  "Yes, yes, so everyone says, but Fax is of the Hold's Bloodline and if the other one... whatever his name was..."

  "Is," Robinton said firmly, "Bargen..."

  "Bargem then, can't stomach a challenge duel, eh? Then he isn't the sort of Lord his holders will follow, is he?" And when Melongel started to protest, Tesner of Igen interrupted him. "Ever think that Faroguy wanted a stronger man in his Hold? Huh? Ever think Fax might have been told by Faroguy to take Hold?"

  No one had an answer for that, even Robinton, though he tried desperately to think of a diplomatic way of expressing his deep and instinctive distrust and anxiety over Fax's aggressiveness. There had been that time, close to Robinton's espousal to Kasia, when Melongel had wondered if the drum messages, purported to be sent by Faroguy, had really originated with the old Lord. Robinton did keep F'lon from speaking in his blunt way lest the Weyrleader antagonize the Lord Holders.

  "Why'd you do that?" F'lon growled at Robinton. "At least we had them on the subject."

  "There's an old maxim – "A man convinced against his will is of his own opinion still."' Robinton sighed, shaking his head. "We'll have to wait until Fax moves again."

  "Or the next Pass starts!" F'lon said bitterly. "Then it'll be too late !"

  "Or just right," Robinton added, as he imagined the chaos and backtracking the return of Thread would cause among those indolent and incredulous Holders and Masters.

  Towards the end of the next spring, Nip brought new reports on Fax's activities.

  "Man's taken over another hold," Nip said, slipping into Robinton's room late one night, wearing his runner's shorts. He was barefooted, carrying spiked running shoes in one hand. "It's late, I know, but your glows guided my steps to your door again," he added with a grin as he stopped by the chest where Robinton stored wine-skins and glasses. The running shoes clattered to the floor.

  "Which two holds?" Robinton said, gesturing to indicate that he'd need a drink too, to help swallow the news.

  "Not big ones," Nip said, "not greedy is our self-styled Lord of Three Holds. Just prosperous ones. And he plays no favourites..." Robinton said nothing, letting Nip vent his fury. "Just ventures a little ways into Telgar to nobble Radharc."

  "It's not like Melongel to allow him away with that."

  "Ah," and Nip held up a forefinger, "you hadn't heard that Melongel's ill?"

  "No, I hadn't." Robinton sat up.

  "Had a fall off a runner-beast..."

  "Melongel's a good rider..."

  Nip's smile was grim. "So he is but not when the animal is fed something that sends it into convulsions and pins the rider under him in its death throes."

  "How could Fax..."

  "Who knows, but Melongel is lucky to be still alive."

  "Clostan's a very good healer..."

  Nip nodded. "He is but he's worried. Almost every bone in Melongel's body was broken. He may never walk again."

  Robinton's fist hit the table. "How could..."

  Nip was rubbing his finger and thumb together, a very cynical expression on his face. "Fax buys loyalty and service... with the added incentive of fear. Who knows how he managed it? But I'd say he did. Which means there'll be no opposition from that quarter Oterel's a good lad but who would expect him to have to deal with this sort of crisis so early in his Holding?"

  "How is Juvana?" Robinton owed her for her support when Kasia died.

  "Working as hard as Clostan to save her spouse. They may bring it off yet."

  "Is it just your suspicion that Fax was behind the... accident?"

  Nip laughed. "Who else? It is so timely. Fax mardes the recently..." and Nip gave another false smile, "orphaned eldest daughter of the deceased holder on Tillek lands – no mention, of course, of any male siblings or relatives. On the Keroon side, he has a document that makes him the incumbent's choice of successor. I don't think the present holder can count on seeing the Turn out."

  Robinton thumped the table again in frustration. "Can't something be done?"

  "Off-hand, since no one will give us a hand, no," Nip said pragmatically. "That man's determined to own the entire west coast. Slowly, by inches, he moves into an area, eliminating," and here Nip drew a finger across his throat, "any opposition. He's got three spouses now, more than a sane man would wish. Doesn't the Charter restrict how many a man can have?"

  "No," Robinton replied thoughtfully, pinching at his upper lip.

  "Actually it doesn't deal with personal relationships at all – at least not the usual variety – though it is specific in the violation..." and Robinton paused, "such as rape or other unwanted acts."

  "Damned Charter was written by idealists."

  "Quite likely, but the Charter does work for the majority."

  Nip grimaced. "It's the minority, the damaged and oppressed minority in Fax's general area we're talking about."

  Robinton shook his head. "I've done all I can with the Lord Holders."

  Nip leaned across the table, the expression in his eyes anxious and intent. "You're the one good with words, Harper. Find some stronger ones before it's too late."

  Robinton nodded, though both he and Nip understood the reluctance of any of the Lord Holders to act – singly or together.

  What would it take to force them out of their comfortable – and, they hoped, impregnable – Holds to act? He shuddered. Fax had already committed many offences against the peace of Pern. He shook his head, unable to contemplate the kind of impetus needed. F'lon? No, Fax would enjoy taking him on but Pern needed the Weyrleader's strength and belief as much as Gennell had needed Robinton's in the position of MasterHarper.

  "I'll keep my eyes peeled and my ears open," Nip told Robinton, draining the last of his wine and setting the glass down. "i'll borrow your spare room... since you're all alone tonight?"

  Robinton chose to ignore the cocky grin and knowing eyes of his roving harper but he wasn't at all surprised that Nip knew that he and Silvina often spent nights together.

  "Are you officially running, Nip?" he called out, sitting himself down. He would write Juvana a letter. The MasterHarper was at her disposal if his presence would help.

  "Aye, I'll see the letter into Juvana's hands," said Nip, one hand on the door jamb, leaning back into t
he room. "She'll like to hear from you."

  Not much escaped Nip at all.

  Not much seemed to be escaping Fax's greed either, Robinton thought. And though he heard that Tarathel had sent protests to Fax over the minor holdings – Ogren and Lewis – that had come so for-tuitously under Fax's control, that was the end of the matter.

  Except that it wasn't. Before Turn's End, Melongel succumbed to one of the fevers so prevalent in the winters at Tillek Hold.

  Robinton immediately sent for F'lon and the two went to Tillek Hold to comfort Juvana. It was hard for Robinton since Kasia's spirit was still vivid in his mind in this place but he tried not to remember, concentrating his mind, and heart, on Juvana, and her grieving children.

  "Did you hear that Melongel's... fall... might not have been accidental?" Groghe murmured to Robinton as they followed those carrying Melongel's body to the Northern Maid.

  "I did. Do you concur?"

  "It's all a bit too convenient, isn't it? A previously sound, sure-footed animal going into convulsions and rolling on its rider?" Groghe snorted. "Runner-beasts don't eat lur-weed and holders clean it out of their fields whenever it sprouts. So someone would have had to put it in the animal's manger on purpose."

  Robinton nodded agreement and then had to take his place with Minnarden on the prow of the ship to harp Melongel to his last resting place. When the last harp note was whipped by the breeze, as Melongel's body slid into the sea, he must have only thought he heard another harp's last dissonant strum.

  He bowed his head and others respected his solitude.

  During the next Turn, Robinton kept wondering what would happen next. Fax made no further obvious moves to extend his holdings. Not that Nip, or Robinton, trusted him. Oterel, confirmed at the Conclave following his father's funeral, enlarged the guard posts along his borders. That had been Nip's advice, filtered through Robinton. The MasterHarper also recommended that Oterel make as many tours of his border with the High Reaches as he could to reinforce the determination of his folk. Since most of the border holders, like Chochol, had succoured refugees from Fax's initial expansion, they were only too eager to comply.

  In the spring of that Turn Silvina informed him that she was pregnant with his child.

  "I will espouse you," he began.

  "Oh no, you won't, because I do not care to be the spouse of the MasterHarper of Pern."

  "What?" Robinton tried to pull her into his arms, but she stepped back, her expression severe.

  "I am ... very fond of you, Rob. We suit each other ... in an informal arrangement. But I will not espouse you." She shook her head for emphasis. Then, taking pity on him, she approached, putting a gentle hand on his arm. "Kasia ... is the name you call at night ... and she is still your spouse. I will not compete with a ... dead woman." Then she shook herself and smiled kindly at him.

  "You will be a good father, Rob, and the child will lack for nothing between us."

  He argued off and on, especially when he caught her being sick in the mornings, but she was adamant. She supported her argument with instances from Betrice's life with Gennell.

  "You love the Harper Hall more than you could possibly love ... another woman. It might have been different if Kasia had lived, but I think not," Silvina said in her down-to-earth manner. "My mother loved harpers, all harpers. I think I have inherited this fatal tendency. I do care for you, Rob ..."

  "As you've often shown." He grinned affectionately at her, finally beginning to see what she meant by her insistence on independence.

  "As you know, but I'd rather not be tied. I don't really think I'm cut out for sexual loyalty." She gave him a very wicked grin. "There are so many of you to love!"

  That he knew of no others with whom she had formed any sort of relationship was immaterial.

  So he made sure everyone in the Hall and Hold knew that he acknowledged the unborn child and that Silvina had his affection and support. And, as often as he could manage in his myriad duties, he spent time with her.

  When he told F'lon, the Weyrleader was delighted, and asked how many lullabies he had composed. Kasia was not mentioned and, for once tactful, F'lon asked if there would be an espousal, too?

  "No." Robinton made a rueful face. "I asked and she refused." F'lon regarded him for a long, thoughtful moment. "I give her full marks for her wisdom. You'll make a loving father but a terrible spouse. Think of all the... ah...friendships you'd have to forgo!"

  Robinton managed a creditable laugh. There was no sense in denying the fact to F'lon that Robinton was enthusiastically welcomed by many holder girls for the pleasure he gave above and beyond the music he played.

  Robinton tried to stay in the Hall as much as he could towards the end of Silvina's pregnancy. The winter was a stormy one and so there were few calls on him to mediate. He taught more classes than he had for many months and was pleased with the way the boys would work for him. The elaborate music of his father had to be put aside since there were no coloraturas available, though he managed to get Halanna to come and sing at Turn's End, reworking a ballad so he could sing with her. Once again he tried to entice her back to the Hall, even offering her a Mastery, but she turned him down.

  "What? Live in this cold all the time? I think not, Rob, though it's kind of you to offer me the post and the honours."

  "The Harper Hall will get the reputation that girls, and women, are not wanted here," he said, continuing his argument.

  She only smiled. "If my daughter is at all musically inclined, I'll send her to you, I promise."

  "Even if she isn't?" Robinton asked, pleading.

  "You!" and Halanna left him with that ambiguous remark.

  In the middle of a blizzard Silvina was delivered of a fine big boy in due course, and Robinton was besotted with the infant at first sight of him. If Silvina seemed unusually subdued, he at first put it down to the rigours of the final month of pregnancy and the delivery. Then he began to realize that this infant was unusually quiet, sleeping and eating fitfully, and only occasionally wailing in a thin, petulant way.

  All right, Silvina, what's wrong with him?" Robinton asked, as the baby briefly waved his fat arms and then sank into unwinking silence.

  She gave a long, sad sigh. "The cord was around his neck when he was born. Ginia said he didn't get enough air to breathe normally."

  Robinton stared at her, disbelief foremost even as he admitted to himself the hideous fact that this child of his was obviously not normal.

  "And?" he asked quietly, slowly sinking to the nearest chair, seeing once again his pleasant dreams turning to ashes.

  "He will be ... slow," she said. "I've seen the same sort of thing before. There've been two cot babes the same way. But they are sweet. And docile."

  "Sweet? And docile?"

  Robinton tried hard to absorb what that would mean in terms of his child. He buried his head in his hands and tried not to think of what could have been. How ironical! That his first – and only -child would be sweet and docile instead of the curious, interested, clever, tall, fine straight child he had yearned for!

  "Oh, Robie, you cannot know how sorry I am." Silvina's fingers twined in his hair. "Please, don't hate me. I so wanted to give you a ... fine child."

  "How can I hate you, Vina?" He glanced sideways at the baby.

  "Or him. I'll care for you both ..."

  "I know you will, Rob."

  There was little more he could say, just then. Over the months of Camo's first Turn, he kept looking for signs that his condition might have been exaggerated and the bright intelligence which should have been his legacy might somehow blossom. He was even somewhat encouraged when Camo first smiled at him.

  "He knows your voice, Rob," Silvina said sadly. "He knows you bring him something good to eat ..." She ignored the little drum which Robinton had made with his own hands to amuse his son.

  The child had regarded it with the vacant eyes he turned on anything that was offered him.

  "He has a very sweet smile,"
Robinton remarked, and then he had to leave the room.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A very weary Nip appeared late one night in the second month of the new Turn.

  "He's at it again," he said, dropping a tattered hide coat to the floor and pouring himself a drink, swallowing it before he spoke.

  "I can get you soup," Robinton suggested when he saw how blue Nip was about the lips. He rose from his comfortable chair. Nip shook his head, poured himself a second glass and came over to the fire. "What's he at?"

  "His tricks," Nip said, sinking gratefully into the chair Robinton had vacated. "How he plans his invasion of holds, large and small."

  "Really?" Robinton poured wine for himself and, hooking his foot around a stool, slid it to the hearth and made himself comfortable to listen. "Do tell."

  "Oh, you'll get chapter and verse from me."

  "If you don't fall asleep first."

  "I won't. My subject matter will keep me wide awake," Nip said bitterly. He downed the second glass of wine. "Pity to waste it like that, Rob, I know, when it's good Benden, but it goes to a good purpose."

  "I'm listening," Robinton said patiently, and filled Nip's glass a third time. The harper sipped this one slowly.

  "He visits his intended victim, all smiles and reassurances, compliments the man on his fine holding. Buys whatever the hold produces, pays over the mark for what he calls the best quality. He asks how such yields are achieved on such poor, good, medium, excellent soil... under such trying, hot, cold, dry conditions... In short..."

  "He makes himself a friend of the hold," Robinton said, nodding roofully.

  "Then he sends down a man to learn from the holder. Or he starts buying the produce, at higher prices, and brings others to see how well this holder is doing with his land. I mean, how can they be taken in so easily?"

  "Some of those upland holds are isolated. Often they don't get to but one Gather a Turn."

  "True," Nip sighed. "Now, he's very canny about how he insults the Harper Hall, especially if the hold in question has a harper, or is on a well-travelled route. He's careful with his slanders," and Nip pantomimed a dagger being inserted gently in and then slowly twisted. "He gives examples of harper lies and exaggerations. So he plants the seeds of doubt. Then he invites the man and his family to come to his next Gather, and sometimes, if the gullible fool believes him, he offers to send men to tend the herd-beasts or the