The Masterharper of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  Melongel didn’t. He already knew of the Telgar Blood connection of Petiron, and the fact that Merelan was a Mastersinger of Pern-wide prestige made no bar to an espousal.

  “But the summer’s ahead of us, the busiest season for journeymen harpers,” he said more severely, since he did not permit pleasure to interfere with duty. “Autumn Equinox would be a better time for espousal than summer. We will, however, announce the pact tonight and spare Robinton competition for dances.”

  Melongel could not spare Robinton either the teasing or the envy of those who had also hoped to espouse Kasia. But the public announcement of their intention made their lives far more comfortable.

  Rob had sent a formal announcement to his parents—at Juvana’s suggestion.

  “Mothers need to know such things, Robinton,” she said, smiling with just a touch of maternal condescension. “You’re old enough to choose your own partner, but even if your relations with your father are poor, you should include him.”

  Robinton stared at her, shocked. He’d never mentioned anything about his father.

  “That’s just it, Rob,” Kasia put in gently, touching his arm and peering into his face. “You don’t mention Petiron, ever. But you mention your mother at least forty times a day.”

  “I don’t . . . that’s exaggeration,” he said, but he relaxed and smiled at her teasing. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t admire Petiron’s music . . .”

  “That’s what I meant,” Juvana said. “He’s never your father. Always Petiron.” She paused, watching the shock on his face. “It gives a clue to those who have your good interests at heart. Not something a casual person would look for.” She wrinkled her nose. “Then, too, I’ve met your father and I agree: he’s a remarkable composer. It’s your songs, however, that everyone sings.”

  Robinton didn’t know what to say, since he’d had no idea that he had given himself away simply by not mentioning a subject.

  “You’ve heard me go on and on about my father,” Kasia said, now earnestly trying to ease the shock of their casual disclosure. “Mind you, I can see why he’d be hard to emulate.”

  “Nonsense, I’d far rather have music I can hum or whistle than those intricate and—yes, I’ll say it—tortured musical forms.”

  Robinton couldn’t stifle the nervous chuckle at Juvana’s remark.

  “There, that’s better,” Kasia said. “If I ever meet him, I’ll be oh so punctilious and formal. Now your mother . . . she’s a dear and loving person.”

  Robinton gawked at her. “How do you figure that? Have you met her?”

  “Not really, but I’ve heard her sing. And her face is so expressive that she must be loving. And if she brought you up the way you are now, she’s a dear.” Then she gave him a warm hug and loving kiss before she relaxed against his arm. He covered her hand with his.

  “Should I ask the MasterHarper’s permission?” he asked.

  “You’re a journeyman,” Juvana said, lifting one shoulder. “You’ve the permission of your contract Holder and have officially announced your intent. But I think it would do no harm to tell Master Gennell.”

  “I’d like to tell the whole world,” Robinton said, beaming down at Kasia, still marveling that she would love him. That was when the music poured into his head and he knew exactly how he could publish his happiness. Sonata to Sea-Green Eyes, he would call it, and he hung on to the lyrical line as he often did when there was no opportunity to write music down.

  “As Kasia’s sister and as your Lady Holder, I will expect you to come to me with any problems you might encounter as you start your lives together,” Juvana said, coming to the real purpose of her interview with the pair. “I have already discussed this with Kasia, and she will protect herself, which is her duty, until such time as you are settled enough to contemplate children.”

  Robinton blushed. He and Kasia had not discussed the natural outcome of their lovemaking, and he realized that he had been remiss in this regard.

  Juvana went on. “I offer the suggestion that you should spend several years enjoying each other’s company, consolidating your new relationship, especially since neither of you need children to help in your professions.” She was quite matter-of-fact, and Robinton knew that she spoke common sense. “You’re both young. You have time. I have told Kasia that I would gladly foster any child of yours should your work make it impossible to give that child the advantages of a permanent home.”

  Robinton managed to stammer out his astonishment at such a magnificent offer: an honor that he had never imagined being offered him. Usually it was the grandparents who offered fostering, or a very close friend. To have his child fostered at Tillek Hold would be a privilege.

  “That’s an incredible offer, Juvana,” he said, getting his wits together. “I’d like to think I’d be a good enough father that a child would not need more than his parents to reassure him, wherever we went.”

  Juvana regarded him solemnly for a moment. “Yes, you would want to be a good father. And I think you would be. I’ve watched you with the slow ones, and you’re kind and patient, though some of their antics would be enough to drive me to sea in a leaky boat.”

  Kasia laughed. “Juvana gets seasick just looking at a rocking boat.”

  “This is all—” He gestured with the hand Kasia was not holding to indicate being overwhelmed. “—rather more than I thought espousing entailed.”

  “That’s why there are such wise women as myself,” Juvana said portentously, grinning to take any sting out of her tone. “So we’ll plan the formal vow-taking for the Autumn Equinox. I doubt our parents can come . . .”

  “If they wouldn’t mind riding a dragon, I think I can arrange conveyance,” Robinton said, wondering at himself for speaking out since he had been delighted her parents lived as far away as Nerat and he’d be unlikely to meet them. But that was just faintheartedness on his part, and silly of him, since he’d been reassured by Melongel, as well as Juvana, that Kasia’s parents had no objection at all to a harper in the family.

  “Can you arrange such a ride?” Juvana was surprised.

  “Yes, sister dear,” Kasia said, beaming on her intended. “He’s been friends with F’lon, bronze rider of Simanith, ever since he and his mother spent a winter at Benden Hold.”

  “Really? How useful.”

  “You wouldn’t mind a dragonrider?”

  “Who could possibly be so dense as to ignore that sort of a connection?” Juvana asked parenthetically.

  Robinton thought of Fax. And he had occasionally encountered the notion—from men who knew little beyond their cotholds—that the Weyr and the dragonriders were an encumbrance, maintained long past their usefulness.

  “I’ll see if F’lon is willing. I think he might like to come to the espousal.”

  “I think my parents would very much enjoy coming a-dragonback,” Juvana said wistfully. “Is it as exciting as I’ve heard?”

  Robinton was quite happy to give her a full accounting of his various trips a-dragonback.

  He and Kasia enjoyed the next two sevendays, until they were separated by his duties as the Turn moved into summer, fair weather, and long days, when the journeymen had to travel to the outlying holds to make sure the Teaching Ballads were being correctly taught and sung. Mumolon and Ifor envied Robinton his smooth-paced Ruathan runner, so he volunteered to take the farthest assigned sweep.

  “If I can travel faster and more smoothly than you can, it’s only right for me to go farther,” he said, grinning. It also meant longer distances, which he could use to work on his Sonata. He had done no more than the opening measures so far, and the music was plaguing him.

  “You won’t get a protest from me,” Mumolon said.

  “You’ll learn, you’ll learn,” Ifor teased him. “Days more away from the lovely Kasia, though.”

  Robinton controlled the spurt of rage he felt, reminding himself that, with his intentions announced, his claim to her affections would no longer be challenge
d. So he made his lips smile and sloughed off the irritation. And retired to his room to write a few more measures of the music that wouldn’t leave his head.

  Before he left, he had an ecstatic and very long letter from his mother, delighted by his news, asking for a sketch of Kasia and so many details that, laughingly, he suggested that Kasia had better answer. Which Kasia immediately did, including a sketched portrait that Marlifin was able to do for her. Master Gennell sent felicitations and thought he would accompany Merelan, to be sure she made it safely to Tillek Hold. Petiron, not surprisingly, neglected to respond. Kasia’s parents, Bourdon and Brashia, expressed delight in her upcoming espousal and readily accepted the possibility—though Robinton was still waiting for an answer from F’lon—of a quick and safe transfer to the west coast. At last F’lon sent a drummed message that he would be there—with whoever needed conveyance.

  After a loving and reluctant farewell to Kasia, he set his runner on the northeastern route, up to the Piro River, which separated Tillek from High Reaches Hold. From there he headed across the plateau into the highlands and down the Greeney River to the sea in the corner of Tillek and Fort. There was a rapidly expanding series of Holds along the Greeney River, some so new that the hardset was still drying—or so the longer-established holders said with grins. That tour took him most of the summer and into the cooler nights and shorter days of the fall. Occasional runner notes from Kasia sustained him. And each evening he faithfully recorded his doings to be returned, often by the same runner.

  He was very grateful when he reached the apex of his journey, a hill Holding right below the High Reaches border. He stayed four days, teaching the children, who were at first very shy with him but warmed as he taught them the Ballads and sang them the humorous songs with which he had relaxed many a nervous student. On his final night Chochol, the Holder, had taken him—and a skin of the rough white Tillek wine—to see the two moons rise, and then unburdened his mind to the harper.

  “Once, twice, maybe, Harper,” Chochol said in his rough voice, pitched low so that not even the herdbeasts grazing nearby could hear what he said, “I would not worry. Anyone can come to a disagreement with his Holder. But there have been eight lots and they arrive scared of their shadows. Wounded, and the pretty ones have been badly handled.” He paused, indicating with a nod what he wouldn’t say about their condition. “Badly handled.” He emphasized the repetition with a second sharp nod. Then he pointed down the hillside, which was grassland with a few stunted trees. “Twice”—he held up two thick, work-callused fingers—“the women were sure that Lord Faroguy must be dead for such things to happen in High Reaches. Scared my spouse, that did. But we see anything coming up here and I tell her we’re in Tillek, holding with Lord Melongel, who’s a fair Holder if ever there was one, and the time hasn’t come when one Lord’ll run over what another has owned since his Blood took Hold.”

  The phrase “run over what another has owned” sent a shudder of fear through Robinton right down to his guts.

  “So’s to reassure her, we’ve another cot,” he said, waving his hand vaguely over his shoulder, “where we could go did we see someone coming who ought not. I don’t like it, Harper, I don’t like it one bit.”

  “Nor I, Chochol, and you may be sure I will tell Lord Melongel of your worries.”

  Robinton did no composing that night for music had gone out of his head. He had asked Chochol if the women had mentioned names, or where they were going in Tillek, but Chochol replied that he didn’t know because he hadn’t asked. He had seen them safe to the river track to the sea and given them what they could spare of provisions.

  Most nights, though, Robinton would drain glowbaskets of their last glimmer, penning his Sonata. He also wrote other music for his Kasia, composing love songs on the long stretches between Holds—though sometimes the notes on the hide showed the roughness of his travel and had to be corrected. These were only for Kasia, written for her to play for herself on her harp.

  He finished the Sonata before he got back to Tillek Hold for the autumn Gather and their espousal.

  Kasia welcomed him so warmly that their reunion lasted all night long, which delighted a travel-weary young man who had desperately missed the object of his affections.

  They spent almost as much time talking as making love. They discussed their future at length. Now and then, he related the amusing incidents that he hadn’t written to her—since most of his letters had been intensely loverly, as she described them. She would treasure them forever. Of course, the Wall Incident had been meat for runners all across Tillek Hold.

  “I’ll probably never live it down,” he told her, stroking her thick hair, rolling a tress on his finger.

  “Why would you want to, Rob?” She giggled. “I think it’s a marvelous comment on your abilities.”

  “I had to live up to expectations,” he said.

  “Which, to judge by Melongel’s remarks, you certainly did.”

  “I’m not so sure of that,” he said, worried.

  “I know you did,” she said loyally, poking his nose gently.

  He groaned. “I hope I did. Every Hold seemed to have some sort of long-term dispute that only I”—he thumbed his chest— “could settle.”

  “Which I’m sure you did.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I know my Rob. Who sees with clear eyes,” she said, touching them one by one, which interrupted him when he was about to tell her about the Sonata, “great perception—” She touched his temples. “—and the clever tongue to speak truth and to the point.” She kissed him and that ended their conversation for some while.

  If he went about his duties at the Hold yawning and only half-there, knowing and kindly smiles absolved him.

  During his verbal report to Melongel, he mentioned what Chochol had told him. “Hill Holding, well kept. The Holder’s named Chochol,” he said, leading up to the distressing news.

  Melongel glanced up at the map and nodded as he identified the place.

  “He’s given hospitality to holdless fleeing from the High Reaches.”

  “Oh?”

  Robinton shifted uneasily, trying not to alarm unnecessarily and yet to state his fears and reservations candidly. “I was three Turns at High Reaches, you know, and I have great respect for Lord Faroguy, but the last time I saw him, at Benden Hold, for Lord Raid’s confirmation, he looked very ill.”

  Melongel nodded, confirming that opinion. “Hmm. I noticed.”

  “Well, it seems that Lord Faroguy may be dead and we simply haven’t been told.”

  Melongel regarded him with shock. “How could that be?”

  “I don’t know, but Chochol thought it possible because he has sheltered several holdless folk—women and children mostly, returning to their relatives’ holdings here in Tillek.”

  Melongel frowned. “I know of several Holders who have asked for dispensation on their tithes because of increases in dependents.” He shuffled through some hides. “I didn’t know the women had been made homeless. Or that they’d come from High Reaches.”

  Robinton cleared his throat, coming to the most dubious part of what Chochol had told him. “The women said that they had been driven out of Holds. Chochol said that some of the younger ones had been badly handled. That they thought Lord Faroguy must be dead for such things to happen.”

  Melongel scowled, fixing Robinton with a glance that many would have been unable to meet.

  “You believe Chochol?”

  “I do, because I know there is a very ambitious man in High Reaches who will try to claim succession for himself . . . when Lord Faroguy dies.”

  “Does this ambitious man have a name?”

  Something in Melongel’s eyes suggested to Robinton that the Lord Holder knew to whom he was referring.

  “Fax.”

  “That nephew of Faroguy’s?” Melongel looked away from Robinton for along moment. “I think I shall ask Faroguy to join us for the Gather. He might, as y
ou have served him, wish to come.”

  That suggestion was more than Robinton had hoped for. But Chochol’s tale had revived suspicions he had once thought groundless.

  “Ah, here,” Melongel said, tweaking a hide from the pile and glancing down at the text. “I’ll just see what I can find out. Two of these enlarged holders live nearby.” He folded his hands across his chest, looking down at a point on the floor. Then, he looked up again, giving Robinton a little smile. “Good report, Robinton. Well done. I’ve met that nephew and, quite frankly, I tagged him as ambitious, too. Would you say that Farevene is able for him?”

  Robinton cleared his throat, struggling with being honest without being derogatory. “Let me say that I wouldn’t back Farevene in a wrestling match with Fax.”

  “Frankly, nor would I, but I know Farevene has been well trained to succeed his father, and I would certainly not confirm Fax in his place.”

  Robinton let a relieved breath out through his lips and said nothing more.

  Melongel grinned more broadly now. “Go on, lad. I know you’re eager to spend time with Kasia after being so long away. One more thing. You’ll be on the panel of the Gather Day Court with Minnarden and myself.”

  Inwardly Robinton groaned—once more the Wall Incident was raising its head, even if he was appreciative of the honor just accorded him. Minnarden had been very pleased with his application to the study of the Charter and his understanding of the principles of mediation and adjudication. This would be his first time to sit on a Hold Court panel. Kasia would be pleased, even if he wasn’t.

  “I doubt it will be a long session, Rob, and certainly won’t cut into your espousal in the afternoon.”

  With a clap on the shoulder, Melongel finally dismissed him.

  “At the Gather Court? Oh, Rob, that is an honor,” Kasia exclaimed when he told her, her eyes wide. Then she giggled. “Melongel really likes you.”

  “He’s working my butt-end off,” Robinton said in an unrepentant growl. “I’ll be all morning listening to troublemakers’ excuses and deciding fines for minor infractions.”