Anne Mccaffrey_ Dragonriders of Pern 20

by Dragon Harper

  Conar, who had recovered his breath, looked up curiously at Kindan.

  “Another job,” Kindan said, his tone just short of a groan.

  “Do you want to wait while I explain your fears to Kindan?” Murenny asked the Benden Weyrleader.

  M’tal frowned thoughtfully, then nodded.

  “And I suppose you haven’t eaten yet?” the Masterharper said to Kindan, who nodded. “Well,” Murenny said, turning back to the Dining Hall, “why don’t we eat and talk there.”

  Kindan’s eyes widened for an instant before he could school his expression. Eating with the Masterharper was certain to be noticed and resented by the older apprentices, but he couldn’t see any way to avoid the invitation.

  As they walked, Murenny fell in beside Conar, asking the smaller boy, “Did Kindan tell you about his broom?”

  Kindan turned bright red, to the accompanying chuckles of the Masterharper and Weyrleader. M’tal clapped him on the shoulder, saying, “You have a right to be proud of your accomplishments.”

  “It’s only a broom,” Kindan groaned.

  “Dragonriders at Benden make their own harnesses,” M’tal told him. Kindan gave him an interested look, so the Weyrleader continued, “Our lives depend on them, we have to trust them.”

  “Well, my life doesn’t depend on a broom,” Kindan murmured.

  “Best not let Selora hear you say that,” Murenny warned him. “Or she’ll prove you wrong.”

  “Selora does the cooking,” Kindan explained to Conar.

  “She does much more than that,” Murenny corrected.

  “She keeps this whole Hall running,” Vaxoram said in agreement. Murenny smiled in agreement.

  As they entered the hall, Kindan noticed that Kelsa stopped mid-sentence when she saw him, with a what-have-you-done-now expression on her face. Kindan smiled and shrugged.

  “Can we find some space for the Weyrleader and my guests?” Murenny asked the other Masters politely when they arrived at the large round Masters’ table. It was obvious from Resler’s expression that he would rather not have Kindan at the table. He slowly rose, but Murenny gestured him to sit back down. “You’ll want to hear this, Resler.”

  Resler’s look made it clear that the Master Archivist thought otherwise, but he sat down again anyway.

  “I’ve got classes to prepare for,” Master Biddle said, rising and nodding to Kindan and the Weyrleader.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Murenny said to Master Biddle. He gestured to Conar. “This is Conar, the youngest of Lord Ibraton of Benden. Alagar recommended him as an apprentice.”

  Biddle nodded an acknowledgment to Conar before leaving.

  “I’ll talk with you later,” Murenny called after him, “and fill you in.”

  The Voicemaster waved a hand in response as he walked out the door toward his classroom.

  “Alagar, really?” Resler asked with interest, ignoring the byplay with Master Biddle. He examined Conar curiously. “And what talent led Master Alagar to recommend you to the Harper Hall, young Conar?”

  Conar dropped his eyes. “I don’t know.”

  “Well,” Resler continued crisply, “I’m sure Alagar will tell us in his own good time.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Murenny said shaking his head. “Master Alagar succumbed to the flu.”

  Masterhealer Lenner sat back in his chair. “I suppose I should stay as well, then.”

  “Yes, you should,” Murenny agreed. He said to the other Masters, “I’ll give the rest of you the news later.”

  He gestured to M’tal. “For now, though, we are imposing on the Weyrleader’s time.”

  The other Masters hastily rose, nodding respectfully to M’tal. “Weyrleader,” they said in chorus before departing with pointed looks at the apprentices and journeymen still seated at the other tables. Immediately, the students finished their conversations, took their last bites of lunch, and rose to bring their trays down to the kitchen.

  “I hadn’t intended to empty the place,” Murenny remarked drolly as he scanned the departing bodies. “But perhaps it’s just as well.”

  “What happened to Alagar?” Lenner asked as the noise of the departures faded away.

  “We have no idea,” M’tal said. “Ibraton received Alagar’s fire-lizard late one night and had just retrieved the note it bore when the fire-lizard screamed and went between.” Before the others could say anything, he continued, “Neither my Gaminth nor Selina’s Breth could contact her.”

  “What did the note say?” Lenner asked, leaning forward intently.

  “One word: flu,” M’tal replied. He leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes wearily. With his eyes still closed, he continued, “Alagar had gone down to one of the smaller holds, no more than three or four families but a holding that Lord Ibraton had deemed ‘promising.’ Gaminth and I flew over the hold the next day. We saw no one.”

  “What about the cattle?” Lenner asked.

  “I saw a few cattle,” M’tal said, leaning forward and opening his eyes again. “Why?”

  “Sometimes cattle can spread an illness to people,” Lenner said. He gestured to Master Resler, adding, “At least so the Records tell us.”

  “Would Alagar know that?” M’tal asked attentively.

  “I don’t know,” Lenner replied after a moment’s thought.

  “I doubt it,” Resler said. “He was never much of a healer.”

  “Benden Hold is without a healer,” Lenner remarked, shaking his head. “And I’m afraid that there is no likely replacement soon,” he added, glancing at Conar.

  “Which is why all harpers are taught some healing,” Murenny said, “like poor Alagar.”

  “And just as healers learn some harpering,” Lenner agreed.

  Murenny snorted. “They’d have to learn some, just because of their duties.” When Conar looked confused, Murenny explained, “They learn tact, at the very least, and something about record-keeping.”

  “I wish they were taught more,” Lenner said, glancing challengingly at Master Resler.

  “They have the worst handwriting,” Resler complained, casting a meaningful look toward Kindan. “And they keep sloppy Records at best.”

  The Masterhealer looked ready to argue but shook himself, and gave M’tal an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”

  M’tal dismissed the apology with a wave of his fingers. “As I said, I saw no one,” M’tal continued. “I didn’t land but returned to Lord Ibraton and told him my news.” Here M’tal paused and glanced toward Conar consideringly before continuing, “Lord Ibraton told me that Alagar had just recently recommended Conar for a harper but that he had decided against it, particularly given the wishes of Conar’s mother.”

  Kindan and the other harpers were surprised.

  “She wanted to keep the boy with her?” Lenner guessed. M’tal nodded.

  “And Ibraton was willing to go along with her to avoid discord,” Murenny surmised.

  “Now he feels that the suggestion has merit,” M’tal continued.

  “Why?” Murenny asked.

  “Because this minor hold wasn’t the only one of his that had suddenly gone silent,” M’tal said. He nodded toward Conar. “So Ibraton now thinks it best to send this one away just in case.”

  “How many holds went silent?” Lenner inquired.

  “Was there a pattern?” Kindan added. Resler shot him a quelling look, reminding Kindan firmly that “apprentices should be seen, not heard.”

  “Good question,” Lenner murmured encouragingly to Kindan.

  “I don’t know,” M’tal said with a grin and a nod to Kindan. He turned to Lenner, saying, “Three other minor holds had gone silent in the last fortnight.”

  “Three in a fortnight?” Lenner murmured. “And no one has gone to check on them?”

  “Alagar was supposed to, according to Ibraton,” M’tal replied.

  “Didn’t we just have the flu come through here not six months back?” Resler asked Lenner. “A
nd doesn’t that mean that we’re immune?”

  “Benden Hold had the flu about eight months back,” Conar piped up.

  “Did it?” Lenner said. “I recall no report.”

  “But—oh!” Conar turned bright red. “Master Alagar had asked me to write it up,” he confessed miserably.

  “No matter,” Lenner told him kindly. “I’d had reports from Lemos and Bitra and, of course, we had it here ourselves.” He shook his head mournfully. “Several oldsters succumbed.”

  “And some babies,” M’tal added somberly. Lenner shot him an inquiring look, to which the Weyrleader replied, “The flu affected the Weyr, too.”

  “My Records show that dragonriders are immune from normal disease,” Resler commented, glancing sharply—nearly challengingly—at M’tal.

  “Yes, dragonriders are immune,” M’tal agreed. “But not all our weyrfolk are.” He sat back in his chair and glanced up thoughtfully. “We lost seven babies, including a newborn.”

  “Out of how many?” Lenner asked quietly.

  “Not more than fifty,” M’tal replied. “Didn’t K’tan send a report?”

  “He might have,” Lenner replied vaguely. “But I know your Weyr is without a harper and it would usually fall to him to make the report.”

  M’tal glanced at Kindan suggestively. “The Weyr is willing to wait until there is a suitable candidate.”

  “Tenelin and Issak are available,” Resler suggested, not catching M’tal’s look. “Both have quite acceptable writing.”

  “It’s important that the Weyrleader have a good rapport with his harper,” Murenny remarked. “And I suspect that while both your recommendations are suitably skilled, they lack a certain—flexibility.”

  “You and your flexibility,” Resler responded sourly. “A harper’s job is well known—”

  “That is neither here nor there,” Murenny cut across him, turning back to M’tal. He looked at Lenner. “Alagar’s note said ‘flu’—could he be right?”

  “To incapacitate so many minor holds,” Lenner began, shaking his head doubtfully, “I would expect some more deadly disease.”

  “I recall,” M’tal said, speaking carefully, “a time in my youth when we had a flu that was quite nasty.” He grimaced. “My mother and younger sister died from it. But while I was recovering, our Weyr Healer at the time—”

  “That would have been Selessekt, I believe,” Resler murmured. M’tal nodded and continued.

  “—said that there had been a much worse flu when he was young; a flu that had killed many.” He turned to Lenner, “Do you recall that?”

  Lenner shook his head. “My hall is besieged with so many requests every day that it is very hard to research into the past, except when immediate needs drive us.” He glanced at the Masterharper. “There are fewer healer apprentices than I’d like.”

  “I quite agree with you,” Murenny responded. “However, as you and I have discussed, finding suitable healer candidates remains a problem.”

  “Why is that?” M’tal asked.

  Lenner made to brush the question aside but Murenny gave him a restraining gesture, and turning to M’tal, said, “Since the end of the Second Pass, we Pernese have been expanding all over our continent.

  “Now that we’re nearing the next Pass, holders and crafters are eager to expand as much as they can, growing spare crops and setting aside materials in preparation.”

  M’tal nodded; none of this was news to him.

  “So holders and crafters want to keep their best and ablest with them, not caring to lose them to the Harper Hall or even the Healer Hall,” Murenny continued. “Particularly the Healer Hall, as training to be a healer takes longer than the training for a harper.”

  “So there’s a dearth of suitable healer candidates,” M’tal surmised. “But surely the holders and crafters must realize…?”

  “So one would think,” Murenny agreed. “However, in practice each holder and craftmaster believes that the needs for new healers should be met out of some hold or craft other than their own.”

  “Perhaps the Weyrs could help,” M’tal suggested and then immediately shook his head ruefully. “I see your problem, just thinking about our weyrfolk. We’ve barely enough youngsters coming along to meet our needs for new dragonriders and weyrfolk.”

  “We’ve managed to survive because we insist on training our harpers in some of the healing arts,” Murenny noted. “But if there were any disaster—”

  “Thread will be enough of a disaster, and less than twelve Turns away,” M’tal said. He glanced down at his hands, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully, then looked up at Murenny. “Have you thought to bring it to the Conclave?”

  “I have,” Murenny replied. “And I have.”

  M’tal cocked an eyebrow questioningly.

  “And the Lord Holders have suggested that I ask the Weyrs or the Crafts,” Murenny responded, his tone just short of bitter.

  “I could become a healer,” a small voice piped up hesitantly. The others turned to Conar in surprise. “But I don’t know if I would be very good. My writing is not the best.”

  “There are some,” the Masterhealer replied with a pointed glance at the Master Archivist, “who feel that’s a failing among most healers.”

  “Didn’t you say you could draw?” Kindan added, trying to bolster both Conar’s credentials and his spirits. When the boy nodded, Kindan turned to Lenner. “Wouldn’t drawing be useful for a healer?”

  “Well,” Lenner temporized, “traditionally there hasn’t been much call for it, but that may only be because we haven’t had anyone with the ability.”

  “While this is all very interesting, we are off the issue at hand,” Murenny said.

  “I think I was responsible,” M’tal said spreading his hands in apology. “My question stands, however: Do we know if there ever was such a plague of a flu?”

  Lenner shook his head and glanced at the Records Master. “I don’t recall any, perhaps Master Resler…?”

  Resler sighed. “I can only do so much with the staff I have. I, too, must deal with current demands, many of which have to do with our current expansion.” He glanced at Conar thoughtfully. “I have many requests for copies of maps, for example—I suppose they’re much like drawing.”

  M’tal nodded in acceptance of Resler’s answer, then said to Murenny, “Could I ask that the Records be searched for any such references?”

  “My lord,” Resler protested, suddenly all formal, “perhaps you didn’t hear me, my staff is already overworked.” He shook his head regretfully. “Besides, such a search is highly technical and I doubt my apprentices would be suited—”

  “I can think of one apprentice up to the task,” M’tal interrupted gently.

  “Who?” Resler demanded in surprise.

  “Someone who’s already demonstrated an ability to ferret through the Records for forgotten tidbits,” M’tal said, his eye falling on Kindan.

  Kindan sat bolt upright, his face flushed with surprise at the same time as Resler noticed the Weyrleader’s glance and exclaimed, “Oh, no! You can’t mean him!”

  CHAPTER 6

  Records to keep, Records to learn

  Knowledge gained from Turn to Turn

  Harper keep the truth alive

  Thus will all on Pern survive.

  HARPER HALL

  And so it was settled, over Resler’s objections and to Kindan’s surprise, that Kindan would search the Records for any mention of a plague or “super-flu,” as the Masterharper dubbed it.

  Master Resler was more upset, if possible, than Kindan himself, who was overwhelmed both with the sheer size of the task and its importance—not to mention that he also had all his normal classes and duties.

  “And you’re not to disturb Verilan, he’s got an important job and doesn’t need distracting,” Resler warned Kindan tetchily.

  “Yes, Master,” Kindan replied tactfully.

  “You understand the importance of this task, don’t you?”
the Masterharper cautioned Kindan.

  “We have to know what to expect and any suggestions to counter it,” M’tal told him.

  “The flu won’t be the same,” Lenner said, “but this at least will give us some idea of what to expect and might suggest approaches for remedies.”

  And now Kindan, at the end of his usual studies, found himself late at night in the Archives Hall surrounded by as many glows as he could acquire and stacks of ancient, musty Records.

  At the next table over, Conar blinked and tried to stifle a yawn. He failed and Kindan found himself yawning sympathetically. At the table in front of Kindan, Vaxoram yawned, too.

  “You don’t have to be here,” Kindan said to Conar. “You should go and get some sleep.”

  “So should you,” Conar shot back. In the sevenday since his arrival at the Harper Hall, Conar had proven to be shy and reserved around everyone—except Kindan. Kindan had hopes that Conar would soon thaw around Verilan, too, but Conar’s relationship with Nonala and Kelsa was marred by their repeated insistences that “He’s so cute!”

  However, strangely enough, it was probably Vaxoram for whom Conar had the greatest affection. Neither spoke of it, and Kindan didn’t understand it; he just sensed that the two felt more comfortable with each other than either did with anyone else.

  That was why Conar was here tonight: more to keep Vaxoram company than Kindan. Kindan glanced up at Vaxoram’s back. The older apprentice hadn’t turned the first page of his Record since they’d sat down over an hour ago. Intrigued, Kindan left his chair and walked around to Vaxoram.

  “Find something?” he asked, surprised to startle the older apprentice.

  Vaxoram was bent low over the old Record, a glow held just above it, hovering over the very first line.

  “No,” Vaxoram replied brusquely, almost belligerently.

  “You’ve been reading the same Record for an hour now,” Kindan observed.

  “It’s the light,” Vaxoram told him. “It’s so dim, it’s hard to read with.”

  “Why don’t you get some rest, then?” Kindan asked.

  “Because you’re here,” Vaxoram said.