Masterharper of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  The first thing he saw outside the Court Hall was everyone looking up at the Hold heights and pointing out the bronze dragon settling himself in the sun. Like rider, like dragon, Robinton thought as Simanith made quite a show of extending his gleaming wings, before, with a smart crack of the tips, he folded them to his back and sprawled, his shorter front legs overlapping the edge.

  F’lon was lounging against the front entrance to the Hold and grinned as he saw the harper hurrying toward him.

  “I brought them safely here,” he said, slapping Robinton on the shoulder and then holding him off to inspect the new clothing. F’lon whistled and his amber eyes gleamed with mischief. “Someone’s taught you a thing or two. The lovely Kasia, perhaps?”

  “I’m well able to choose my own clothes,” Robinton said. Then he asked in a lower voice, as F’lon hurried him into the Hold, “Why did you have to bring them here so early?”

  “Early? It’s not early by my time, lad. Don’t worry. I’ll see that they don’t rough you up.”

  When Robinton started to cross the Hall to the stairs, F’lon neatly hauled him in another direction.

  “This way,” he said, and then pushed Robinton toward the side room that served as a private interview chamber. “And here he is,” F’lon announced triumphantly, pausing at the threshold to let Robinton enter on his own.

  “Ah, Robinton,” Juvana said, rising to greet him and bring him toward her mother and father, seated on the high-backed couch.

  Swallowing fiercely, Robinton managed a nervous smile at Holder Bourdon, a grizzled man with deeply tanned skin. His green eyes, slightly darker than Kasia’s, were tilted just like hers. His spouse, a sweet-faced woman with fading brown hair, gave Robinton a lovely smile and jumped up eagerly.

  “Oh, Journeyman, you cannot know how pleased we are!” she exclaimed, coming forward and grabbing Robinton’s free hand. Bourdon had been about to speak, but now he closed his mouth, made a gesture of helplessness, and let her go on. “We’ve been so worried that she would mourn Merdine forever . . .” Her face clouded briefly, then her marvelous smile came out again. “And when she wrote to tell us—” She turned to her spouse for confirmation and Bourdon gave a patient nod. “—we were overjoyed, but never did we expect to be able to attend her Espousal so far away from Mardela. And at a very busy season.” Bourdon nodded again.

  “My pleasure, I assure you, to assist my good friend in every way,” F’lon said, bowing.

  Holder Bourdon cleared his throat. “Kasia says you’re comfortable at sea, too?”

  “Well, I don’t get seasick,” Robinton admitted.

  “And not too proud to help gut and salt, either, she says.”

  “Come, sit, Robinton,” Juvana said, gesturing for him to take the other double couch. “I can’t imagine that you’d mind leaving Court Hall today . . .” She gave him a sly sideways glance. “Your mother has already met my parents and is upstairs, keeping Kasia from a case of nerves.”

  “Kasia’s nervous?” Robinton only just managed to keep his voice from betraying his own nervousness.

  Juvana chuckled. “It’s her privilege. My, but you look every bit as gorgeous as she does. Clostan?”

  “Hmmm,” Robinton admitted, shooting a glance at F’lon, who blinked and then rolled his eyes over his friend’s prevarication.

  “And what’s this?” Juvana asked, touching the wrapped bowl Robinton still held. “An Espousal gift already?”

  Eager for something to discuss, Robinton showed the bowl and explained how pleased he was that Saday had taken him at his word.

  “Oh, the Wall people,” Brashia said, and Robinton groaned, heartily sick of that story. “Kasia told us how clever you were then.”

  Bourdon chuckled. “Got a quick head on your shoulders. No harm in that, lad.”

  A kitchener arrived with a tray of refreshments, klah and wine with little cakes and biscuits. Robinton leaped to his feet to help her settle the tray. Then, as Juvana asked what her parents wished to drink at this hour, he busied himself passing cups and glasses and the plates of food, regaining some poise in that simple act.

  “You’re busy at this season in Mardela?” he asked Bourdon politely.

  “Packtail are running. D’you know them?”

  “We’ve the northern variety, the bordos,” Robinton said, as if he discussed fish varieties every day.

  Bourdon nodded with approval. “Good eating, the bordos.”

  “Will your mother be singing today?” Brashia asked shyly. “We all know about Mastersinger Merelan in Mardela, but few of us have had a chance to hear her sing, living where we do.”

  “She plans to,” Robinton replied, once again grateful to have such a mother—if only she were there with him now, to smooth his way.

  “Special music?” Brashia asked, tilting her head in the same charming way Kasia had.

  “Some of Robinton’s own songs,” Juvana said, ignoring Robinton’s dire look. “He’s far too modest. Melongel’s of the opinion that our Robinton is as good a composer as his mother is a singer.”

  “Now, that’s taking it a bit far, Juvana,” Robinton protested.

  “I don’t think so,” Juvana replied, unmoved. “Nor does Kasia.”

  “She’s partisan,” F’lon said, leaning against the door frame and idly twirling his wineglass, his eyes dancing with mischief. “But I’ll allow that Rob has spawned some fine tunes.”

  “So we’ll hear some?” Brashia twisted round on the couch to look in Robinton’s direction.

  “You probably won’t hear anything but Rob’s songs,” F’lon went on. “Most of today’s best songs are his.”

  “Really?”

  “Every new one and half the revised Teaching Ballads our Robinton composed.”

  If F’lon and Juvana thought they were helping him in this initial meeting with Kasia’s parent, they were wide of their mark.

  “I thought it was your father who composed so much music,” Bourdon said, slightly confused.

  “They both do,” Juvana said, just as F’lon remarked, “You can sing Rob’s stuff.”

  “Haven’t you other Gather guests to collect?” Robinton asked as mildly as he could.

  “Oh, no, I reserved the day entirely to help you,” F’lon said with a flourish.

  “You might like to see the Gather then?” Robinton said, an edge to his voice.

  Juvana laughed. “We’ll stop, Rob. It’s not fair to tease you, today of all days.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that, Lady Holder.”

  “Oh, now come, Rob,” she said, touching his arm. “I’m nearly your sister, you know.”

  Robinton’s mind froze for a moment.

  “Don’t tell me that fact has escaped your clever mind?” F’lon asked, delighted by his friend’s confusion. “Which makes Lord Melongel your brother. Doesn’t it? Well done, Harper.”

  He felt Juvana’s hand press gently around his forearm and, feeling extremely stupid, he turned to look at her.

  “It does, you know,” she said gently. Then she grinned at the others. “I never thought I should be able to render a harper speechless.”

  “But that’s not why I want Kasia . . .”

  “Of course it isn’t,” Juvana said.

  “Such a dear boy,” Brashia said, beaming at him.

  “Like the cut of his sail,” Bourdon put in.

  “Close your mouth, Rob,” F’lon suggested from the doorway.

  “F’lon, stop propping up the door and go get the harp Robinton made for Kasia,” Juvana said, flicking her fingers at the dragonrider. “You know where it is. And tell Kasia that it’s gone very well indeed.” As soon as F’lon left, she smiled placidly at Robinton. “He can be dreadful, can’t he? I do believe that dragonriders are far worse than harpers for teasing, aren’t they?”

  Robinton was still floundering over the idea of being related to the Lord Holder of Tillek. “Honestly, I had no idea.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Juvana s
aid easily. “Now, Clostan would be instantly suspect of such connivery—but not you.”

  “Kasia said you’ve been loaned a sloop for your Espousal days,” Bourdon said. “Sail much?”

  “Only from Fort harbor to Ista, and then the seven-day fishing run with Captain Gostol. He’s loaning us the ship.”

  “Is he?”

  “Yes, had us out tacking up and down the harbor the other day.” Robinton grinned. “To see if Kasia knew what she was about, for he was very sure I don’t.”

  The admission did him no harm with Bourdon, who leaned forward and began to explain the foibles of small ships. That kept the conversation going amiably until F’lon carried in Kasia’s harp, handling it with the reverence he would ordinarily give only to his Simanith. As he passed it to Robinton, he murmured, “Beautiful piece.” Then both Bourdon and Brashia came over to examine the carving, the inlay, and the strings; then, of course, they asked him to play so they could hear its tone.

  Playing brought Robinton to complete balance. And seeing that, Juvana made her excuses and left for other duties.

  Never had there been such a brilliant Gather Day as this one, when Robinton took Kasia’s hand in his in front of the Court Hall, where the Lord and Lady Holders stood with Master Minnarden and the other craftmasters available for this happy duty. That they were the first of six other couples didn’t impinge on his consciousness then. He had eyes only for his Kasia. Behind them were their witnesses: his mother, radiant in blue, standing between F’lon and Groghe, who had said he was here in his official capacity as a Fort Holder. Kasia’s parents stood on her side: her mother flushed and excited, and her father doing very well at looking proud and dignified.

  Never had Robinton had to speak his own words in front of such a huge crowd. Singing words was another matter entirely, but speaking his whole heart in words was something else again. He had to clear his throat, but then, taking a deep breath, he announced his intentions to be a loving, kind, considerate spouse, caring for her all his life, nurturing their children, and providing for the family.

  Holding hands, he looked into Kasia’s eyes, which were no longer shadowed with an old grief but radiant with joy, as she—who also had to clear her throat before she spoke—declared her intentions in a loud voice. She grinned more broadly when she got to the part about children and winked at him.

  “We have heard your promises, Robinton and Kasia,” Melongel said, stern in his capacity as Lord Holder.

  “And have witnessed them,” Master Minnarden said while the other craftmasters murmured their traditional response. The observers cried congratulations and shouted, “Good luck!”

  Melongel’s face relaxed in a smile as he shook their hands before moving to the next expectant couple. “Brother,” he murmured slyly to Robinton.

  “So kiss her!” F’lon cried. When neither Robinton nor Kasia moved, he took them by the shoulders and pushed them together.

  The lightning that passed from lip to lip seemed to encompass Robinton’s entire body—and hers, as well, leaning so trustingly against him. He was almost annoyed when F’lon’s hands pulled them apart.

  “I’m so happy, my dear daughter,” Merelan was saying as she embraced a bemused Kasia. There were tears in his mother’s eyes, but she had always been able to cry and remain beautiful. She changed places with Brashia, who hugged her daughter tightly, weeping so profusely that she couldn’t speak at all. Bourdon was shaking Robinton’s hand fit to render it useless for any playing. F’lon was insisting that he definitely had the right to kiss Kasia—just this once, to show her what she’d missed. Then Merelan was hugging Robinton so tightly that he had to seize her arms to be released.

  “Be as happy as I have been with your father,” Merelan whispered for his ear alone, and when he tensed, she held him slightly away, giving him a hard, long look. “For we have been happy . . . together” And he realized that she spoke the truth: that it had always been he who had been the problem with his father. “You’ve the heart big enough to love an entire world,” she added. Then she released him.

  Groghe, rather shyly, kissed Kasia on the cheek and told her she’d be very welcome whenever she came to Fort Hold. Which he hoped would be often.

  By then, three more couples had had their vows witnessed to choruses of cheers.

  “I need a drink,” F’lon announced and began herding them all out of the crowd and toward the Gather tables set around the dance square. There were two tables set upon platforms on either side of the players’ dais. The right-hand one was for the newly espoused, and it was there that F’lon led his little group.

  A beaming wineman met them halfway, his tray of glasses clinking against each other.

  “I know I shouldn’t, but I’m serving the Benden wine, which the dragonrider said I must give you,” he said, leaning forward to murmur this treachery to them. He beamed warmly at Kasia and held the tray out to her. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling, even as she sipped the deliciously cold, crisp Benden white.

  They were all served and then took their places at the table as kitcheners rushed forward to serve them.

  Robinton never remembered the rest of the table filling up. It was all a blur of happiness: Kasia was his and he was hers and his mother was here. Her parents were quite nice folk, and he no longer felt uneasy with them, listening to the snippets of advice Bourdon was giving him about sailing. But if F’lon didn’t stop teasing him, he’d land him one in the jaw very soon, although Kasia laughed as hard at his witticisms as her parents and his mother.

  The Mastersinger led off the singing with one of the love songs Robinton had written for Kasia, though his mother kindly did not mention that. She was accompanied by Minnarden, Ifor, Mumolon, and several local instrumentalists. It was received with rapturous applause and determined shouts for more. Brashia looked stunned as the truly lovely voice rose in joyous phrase and shook her head, murmuring, “She’s every bit as good as they said, every bit!”

  “Proud of your mother, aren’t you?” Bourdon said, leaning across the table, his face flushed with pleasure and the good Benden wine. “Every reason to be.”

  “And she of him,” Kasia said proudly, clasping both hands around Robinton’s arm and resting her face against it for a moment.

  Their legs were twined under the table so tightly that Robinton hoped no one could see under the cloth—and that he wouldn’t be asked to stand. Fortunately, he wasn’t. Prepared as he was for the necessity of taking a turn, he was pointedly ignored by Minnarden when the musicians changed round.

  His leg went to sleep twice under the table, and when Kasia had to leave briefly to use a facility, she limped the first few steps from cramp. Brashia and Merelan went with her, reassuring Robinton, who couldn’t bear her out of his sight, that she’d be fine with them.

  As soon as the meal had been served to the main guests and the Lord Holders, those who wished to pay for their meal took places at the tables. Many dispersed to wander about the booths and enjoy the fine weather.

  The singing continued in a less formal fashion, as background entertainment.

  “Restless, love?” Kasia murmured when she caught his fingers drumming the rhythm.

  “Oh, no, no, just habit,” he said. “Nothing can make me leave your side. Not today or ever.”

  “We will dance later though, won’t we?” she asked, making her eyes wide and innocent.

  “Of course. All night . . .”

  “Not all night,” she murmured back, a sensual smile curving her lips. And then she giggled at his expression.

  Dance they did, and Robinton was only going to allow Lord Melongel, her father, and Groghe to partner her. He was furious with F’lon’s teasing.

  “Don’t be annoyed with him,” Kasia said, serious for a moment. “He is so fond of you, and I suspect all that foolery of his covers a far more serious problem he can’t—won’t—talk about.” She grinned. “The way he sighs, I’d say he might be in love.”

  “F’lon?” Robint
on was surprised. The idea put a different complexion on F’lon’s behavior and Robinton regretted that he hadn’t been more sympathetic. He had seen F’lon looking very thoughtful and worried in between his bouts of nonsense. Today was not the day for him to inquire what bothered his friend but he’d find time tomorrow. Then he reminded himself that he and Kasia weren’t likely to encounter F’lon on the morrow.

  So he permitted the bronze rider to dance with Kasia, and while he watched them dance, he spoke to Simanith.

  What is troubling my friend F’lon, Simanith?

  There was silence for so long that Robinton wondered if the dragon had heard him at all.

  I hear. I do not know. Sometimes he doesn’t tell me everything. Simanith’s tone, so like his rider’s, sounded wistful and anxious. He thinks a lot about Larna and he’s not happy.

  Larna? The name sounded vaguely familiar, but it took Robinton most of the dance to remember: Larna had been a nuisancey little child, the old weyrwoman’s daughter. F’lon had got into trouble with Carola, and his Weyr, over the way he treated the little girl. But little girls grow up. Robinton liked to think that this Larna had grown up into so pretty a girl that F’lon had lost his heart to her. But then, lovers always wanted others to be in love, too. Robinton sighed, and went off to claim Kasia for himself for the rest of the evening.

  They managed to steal away unnoticed during one of the popular slow dances, and made it unencumbered out of the glow-lit dancing square and to the extraordinarily quiet Hold. For a Gather, even the old aunties and uncles were out enjoying themselves, and all the kitcheners and drudges with them.

  “Look!” Kasia pointed to the heights, where twin globes of lightly whirling green showed them that Simanith was on watch. She waved, and was startled when the bronze dragon blinked.

  “Make no mistake, the dragon can see everything that’s going on,” Robinton said. He waved, too, and laughed when Simanith blinked again.

  “Does he know what’s troubling F’lon?”