Dragonsinger

by Anne McCaffrey

  ‘Today … that was all my fault, sir,’ Menolly said, grabbing at a remark of Piemur’s for excuse. ‘My friend, Piemur, the little fellow,’ and Menolly measured Piemur’s height from the ground with her free hand, ‘stumbled in the crowd. I was afraid he’d be trampled …’

  ‘Was that what that was all about, Robinton?’ asked Lord Groghe. ‘You never did explain,’ but Lord Groghe seemed more interested in the lack of wine in his cup. Robinton politely topped the cup from the wineskin on the table.

  ‘It never occurred to me, Lord Groghe,’ said Menolly with genuine contrition, ‘that I’d be alarming you or the Masterharper or Sebell.’

  ‘The young of every kind tend to be easily alarmed,’ remarked the Harper, but Menolly could see the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. ‘The problem will disappear with maturity.’

  ‘And increases now with so many fire lizards about her,’ added Lord Groghe with a grunt. ‘How much more d’you think they’ll grow, girl, if yours are the same age as Merga?’ He was frowning at Beauty and glancing back to Merga.

  ‘Mirrim’s three fire lizards at Benden Weyr were from the first clutch, weren’t they? They’re not more than a fingertip longer,’ said Menolly, eagerly seizing on the new topic. ‘They’d be older by several sevendays, I think.’ She glanced at the Masterharper who nodded in confirmation. ‘When I first saw F’nor’s queen, Grall, I thought it was my Beauty.’ Beauty squeaked indignantly, her eyes whirling a little faster. ‘Only for a moment,’ Menolly told her in apology and stroked Beauty’s head, ‘and only because I didn’t know the Weyrs had also discovered the fire lizards.’

  ‘Any notion how old they must be to mate?’ asked Lord Groghe, scowling in hopes of a favourable answer.

  ‘Sir, I don’t know. T’gellan, Monarth’s rider, is going to keep a watch on the cave where my fire lizards hatched, to see if their queen will come back to clutch there again.’

  ‘Cave? Thought fire lizards laid their eggs in sand on the beaches?’

  Master Robinton indicated that she was to speak freely to the Lord Holder, so Menolly told him how she’d seen the fire lizard queen mating near the Dragon Stones, how she’d happened to be back that way, looking for spiderclaws (‘Good eating, those,’ Lord Groghe agreed and gestured for her to get on with the tale) … and helped the little fire lizard queen lift the eggs from the sea-threatened strand into the cave.

  ‘You wrote that song, didn’t you?’ Lord Groghe’s frown was surprised and approving. ‘The one about the fire lizard keeping the sea back with her wings! Liked that one! Write more like it! Easy to sing. Why didn’t you tell me a girl wrote it, Robinton?’ His scowl was now accusatory.

  ‘I didn’t know it was Menolly at the time we circulated the song.’

  ‘Humph. Forgot about that. Go on, girl. Did it happen just as you wrote the song?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘How come you were there in the cave when they hatched?’

  ‘I was hunting spiderclaws and went further down coast than I should have. Threadfall was due. I was caught out, and the only shelter I could think of was the cave where I’d put the fire lizard eggs. I arrived … with my sack of spiderclaws … just as the eggs began to break. That’s how I Impressed so many. I couldn’t very well let them fly out into Thread. And they were so hungry, just out of the shell …’

  Lord Groghe grunted, sniffed and mumbled to the effect that he’d had enough trouble keeping one fed, his compliments for handling nine! As if mention of food had penetrated their sleep, Kimi and Zair roused, creeling.

  ‘I mean no discourtesy, Lord Groghe,’ said Master Robinton, rising as hastily as Sebell.

  ‘Nonsense. Don’t go. They eat anything, anywhere.’ Lord Groghe swung his heavy torso about. ‘You there, what’s your name …’ and he waved impatiently at the wineman’s apprentice, who came running. ‘Bring a tray of those meatrolls from the stalls. A big tray. Heaped. Enough to feed two hungry fire lizards and a couple of harpers. Never known a harper who wasn’t hungry. Are you hungry, harper girl?’

  ‘No, sir; thank you, sir.’

  ‘Making a liar out of me, harper girl? Bring back some bubbly pies, too,’ the Lord Holder roared after the departing apprentice. ‘Hope he heard me. So you’re the daughter to Yanus of Half-Circle Sea Hold.’

  Menolly nodded acknowledgement of the relationship.

  ‘Never been to Half-Circle. They brag about that cavern of theirs. Does it hold the fishing fleet?’

  ‘Yes, sir, it does. The biggest can sail in without unstepping the masts, except, of course, when the tides run exceptionally high. There’s a rock shelf for repairs and careening, a section for building, as well as a very dry inside cave for storing wood.’

  ‘Hold above the docking cavern?’ Lord Groghe seemed dubious about the wisdom of that.

  ‘Oh, no, sir. Half-Circle Sea Hold really is a half circle.’ She cocked her thumb and curved her forefinger. ‘This,’ and she angled her right hand to show the direction of the curve, after squinting to see where the sun was, ‘my thumb is the docking cavern, and this,’ and she pointed to the length of her forefinger, ‘is the Hold … the longer part of the half circle, and then this much,’ and she touched the webbing, ‘is sandy beach. They can draw dinghies up on it or gut fish, sew nets and mend sail there in fair weather.’

  ‘They?’ asked Lord Groghe, his thick eyebrows rising in surprise.

  ‘Yes, sir, they. I’m a harper now.’

  ‘Well said, Menolly,’ replied Lord Groghe, slapping his thigh with a crack that made Merga squeal in alarm. ‘Girl or not, Robinton, you’ve a good one here. I approve. I approve.’

  ‘Thank you, Lord Groghe, I was confident you would,’ said the Masterharper with a slight smile, which he shared with Sebell before he nodded reassuringly at Menolly.

  Beauty chirped a question, which Lord Groghe’s Merga answered in a sort of ‘that’s that’ tone.

  ‘Cross-crafting works, Robinton. Think I’ll have to spot a few more of my sons about. Seaholds, too.’

  The notion of Benis in Half-Circle Sea Hold appealed to Menolly, though she didn’t know if that was whom Lord Groghe had in mind.

  The slap of running feet and hoarse breathing interrupted the conversation as the apprentice lad, juggling two trays, all but slid the contents into the laps of those he served.

  As the new fire lizards were fed, Menolly saw that more and more people were filing into the central square, taking seats at tables and benches. At one end was a wooden platform. Now a group of harpers took their places and began to tune up. Immediately sets were formed for a call-dance. A tall journeyman harper gave his tambourine a warning shake and then called out the dance figures in a loud voice that carried above the music while his tambourine emphasized the step rhythm.

  Those watching on the sidelines clapped in time to the music, shouting good-natured encouragements to the dancers. To Menolly’s surprise, Lord Groghe added a hearty smacking beat of his hands, stamping his feet and cheerfully grinning about at everyone.

  Once the music started, the square filled up, and still more benches were angled into any free space. Menolly saw colours of all the major crafts on journeymen and apprentices from the halls of the Fort Hold complex. Groups of men stood about, drinking wine and watching the dancing, their heavy boots and clean, though earth-stained, trousers marking them as small holders in from neighbouring farms for the restday and a bit of trading at the gather. Their womenfolk had congregated along one side of the square, chattering, tending smaller children, watching the dancing. When the sets changed, some of the holders dragged their giggling but willing women out to make up new groups as the musicians began another foot-tapping, hand-clapping tune.

  The third was a couple’s dance, a wild gyration of swinging arms and skipping legs, an exercise that rendered every participant breathless and thirsty to judge by the calls on the wineman’s lads when the dance ended.

  A change of harpers occurred now, the dance-p
layers giving up the platform to Brudegan and three of the older apprentices who ranged themselves slightly behind Brudegan. At his signal they sang the song that Elgion had sung the night of his arrival at Half-Circle Sea Hold: it was one Menolly had never had a chance to learn. She leaned forward, eager to catch every word and chord. On her shoulder, Beauty sat up, one forepaw lightly clasping Menolly’s ear for balance. The little queen gave a trill and glanced enquiringly at Menolly.

  ‘Let her sing,’ said Master Robinton. Then he leaned forward, ‘But, if you can keep the others where they are on the roofs, I think that might be wise.’

  Menolly sent a firm command to her friends just as Merga rose to her haunches on Lord Groghe’s shoulder and added her voice to Beauty’s.

  As the fire lizards’ descant rose above the harpers’ voices, Menolly was conscious of being the focus of startled attention. Lord Groghe was beaming with pride, a smug smile on his face, the fingers of one hand drumming the beat on the table while he waved the other as if he were directing the extemporaneous chorus.

  Wild applause followed the song, and cries of ‘“The Fire Lizard Song”!’ ‘Sing the Queen’s song!’ ‘Does she know it?’ ‘Fire lizard!’

  From the platform, Brudegan beckoned imperiously to Menolly.

  ‘Go on, girl, what’s holding you back?’ Lord Groghe flicked his fingers at her to obey the summons. ‘Want to hear you sing it. You wrote it. Ought to sing it. Shake yourself up, girl. Never heard of a harper not wanting to sing.’

  Menolly appealed to Master Robinton, but the Harper had a wicked twinkle in his eyes, despite the bland expression on his face.

  ‘You heard Lord Groghe, Menolly. And it’s time you did a turn as a harper!’ She heard the emphasis on the last word. He rose, holding out his hand to her as if he knew very well how nervous she was. She’d no choice now, for to refuse would be to shame him, slight the Hall, and annoy Lord Groghe.

  ‘I’ll accompany you, Menolly, if I may. You do remember the new wording?’ Robinton asked as he handed her up to the platform.

  She mumbled a hasty affirmative and then wondered if she did. She hadn’t actually sung the new words, or the tune, for that matter, since she’d composed it so very long ago in the little hall in Half-Circle Sea Hold. But there was Brudegan, grinning a welcome, and gesturing to two gitar players to hand over their instruments to her and the Masterharper.

  Menolly turned and saw all the faces, all the people massed on each side of the square. A hush fell, and into that attentive silence, the Harper struck the first chords of her fire lizard song. Master Shonagar’s oft-repeated advice flashed through her mind: ‘Stand straight, take your breath into your guts, shoulders back, open your mouth … and sing!’

  ‘The little queen all golden

  Flew hissing at the sea.

  To stop each wave

  Her clutch to save

  She ventured bravely.’

  The applause that greeted the final verse of the song was so deafening that Beauty rose on wing, squealing with surprised alarm. Then the crowd laughed and gradually the noise subsided.

  ‘Sing something from your Sea Hold,’ said the Master Harper in her ear as he played a few idle chords. ‘Something these landsmen might not have heard. You start: we’ll follow’.

  The crowd was noisy, and Menolly wondered how she’d be heard, but as soon as she struck the first notes, the gather quieted. She used the chorus for introduction, giving the Masterharper the chording, and smiling, even as she sang, to find herself so well accompanied.

  ‘Oh wide sea, oh sweet sea,

  Forever be my lover.

  Fare me on your gentle wave

  Your wide bed over.’

  Over the applause when she finished, she heard the Masterharper saying right in her ear, ‘They’ve never heard that one before. Good choice.’ He bowed, gestured for her to take a bow and then motioned to the harpers waiting just beyond the platform to start the second dance group.

  Smiling and waving to various people, he led Menolly from the platform and back to the table where Lord Groghe was still enthusiastically clapping. Sebell grinned approvingly and rose to pass back to the Masterharper the very irritated little Zair.

  Menolly would have preferred to sit down and recover from the surprise of her first public appearance as a harper and the warmth of the reception, but Talmor came up.

  ‘You’ve done your duty by crafthall now, Menolly, let’s dance!’ He spied Beauty on her shoulder. ‘But could she sit this one out? No telling how she’d misconstrue my man-handling you in a dance!’

  The harpers had already struck a fast prance tune.

  ‘Will she stay with me?’ asked Sebell, offering his arm and a padded sleeve. ‘Zair didn’t mind too much …’

  Menolly coaxed Beauty, who chattered with annoyance but allowed herself to be transferred to Sebell’s shoulder. Talmor, one arm about Menolly’s waist, swung her expertly and quickly into the whirling dancers.

  After that, it seemed to Menolly that she’d no more than time to take a quick sip of wine to moisten her parched throat and reassure Beauty, before she was claimed by another partner. Viderian took her for the next set dance, with Talmor partnering Audiva in the same group. Then Brudegan caught her hand for a dance and, to her complete surprise, Domick after him. She acceded to Piemur’s boast that he could dance as well as any journeyman and master and wasn’t he her best friend, despite a lack of hands in height and Turns in age.

  Quartets of singers spelled the dance players until Menolly was certain that every single harper must have performed. Both of the songs that Petiron had sent to the Harper were so frequently requested that Menolly writhed a bit with embarrassment until Sebell caught her eye, cocking an eyebrow and grinning at her discomfort.

  As full dark settled over Fort Hold, the crowd began to thin, for those with a distance to travel had to start their journeys home. Stalls were taken down and folded away, and grazing herdbeasts and runners were captured and saddled to bear their owners down the roads from the Hold. The wineman, since he kept a hold in the Fort cliff, continued to serve those unwilling to end a gather.

  Pecking Menolly urgently on the cheek, Beauty reminded her that the fire lizards had politely waited for their supper long enough. Abashed at her thoughtlessness, Menolly rushed back to the Harper Hall. On the kitchen steps, Camo sat disconsolately, his thick arms cradling an enormous bowl of scraps, his eyes on the archway. The instant he caught sight of her and the fire lizards wheeling and diving as escort, he rose, calling to her.

  ‘Pretties hungry? Pretties very hungry! Camo waiting. Camo hungry, too.’

  From nowhere, Piemur appeared.

  ‘See, Camo, I told you she’d be back. I told you she’d want us to feed her fire lizards!’

  Piemur stopped her breathless apologies as he handed out gobs of meat to his usual trio.

  ‘Told you gathers were fun, didn’t I, Menolly? Told you it was about time you had some, too. And you sang just great! You should always sing “The Fire Lizard Song”! They loved it! And how come we don’t know that sea song? It’s got a great rhythm.’

  ‘That’s an old song—’

  ‘I never heard it.’

  Menolly laughed because Piemur sounded as testy as an old uncle instead of a half-grown boy.

  ‘Hope you know some more new ones like that because I’m so bored with all the stuff I’ve heard since I was a babe … Hey, you had the last piece, Lazy. It’s Mimic’s turn … there! Behave yourself.’

  The hungry fire lizards made short work of Camo’s bowl. Then Ranly leaned out of the dining room window, urging them to come and eat before the food was cleared away. There weren’t many in the dining hall: Piemur had been right that they got scanty rations on a gather day, but the cheese, bread and sweetings were all Menolly could eat.

  When the Apprentice Master marshalled the younger ones to the dormitory, Menolly quietly ascended the steps to her own room. The lilting strains of still another dance tun
e drifted on the night air. She’d done her first turn as a harper, and done well. She felt like a harper for the first time, as if she really did belong here in the Hall. Lulled by the music and distant laughter, she fell asleep, the warm bodies of the fire lizards nestling against her.

  The next morning, looking from her window to the place where the gather had been held, she saw few traces of litter, only the dew-glistening trampled earth of the dancing square. Holders trudged towards the fields, herdsmen were guiding their beasts to the meadows, and apprentices dashed up and down the holdway on their errands. Down the ramp from Fort Hold paced a troop of leggy runners, fresh after a day’s rest, fretting against the slow pace to which their riders held them until they were past the ambling herdbeasts. They disappeared in a cloud of dust down the long road to the east.

  Menolly heard the noise from the apprentices’ dormitory, and a soft, all but inaudible, creeling closer by. She threw on her clothes and dashed down the steps.

  ‘Knew you wouldn’t miss, Menolly,’ said Silvina, meeting her on the steps from the kitchen. She carried a tray, which she thrust ahead. ‘Do take this up to the Harper, like a pet, would you? Camo’s just about finished wielding that chopper of his for your fair.’

  Menolly’s polite tap at the Masterharper’s door brought an instant response. He had a fur clutched around him and an insistently creeling fire lizard clawing at his bare arm.

  ‘How’d you know?’ he asked, delighted and relieved to see her. ‘Thank goodness you did. I really can’t appear in the kitchen wrapped in a sleeping fur. There, there! I’m stuffing your face, you bottomless pit. How long does this insatiable appetite continue, Menolly?’

  She held the tray for him so he could feed Zair as they crossed the room. She slid the tray on to the middle of the sandtable and, anticipating the Harper’s own requirements, offered Zair his next few pieces of meat while Master Robinton gratefully gulped down steaming klah. He grabbed a piece of bread, dipped it into the sweeting, had another sip of klah and then, his mouth full, waved at Menolly to leave.