Dragondrums

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Rokayas, would you help Menolly collect Piemur’s things from the drumheights?” asked the Harper. His voice was mild, his manner unexceptional but, unmistakably, his attitude informed Dirzan that he had misjudged Piemur’s standing in the eyes of the most important people of the Hall.

  Dirzan offered to do the small task himself, and was denied; offered to help Menolly, who awarded him a cool look. He desisted then, but the set look to his mouth and the controlled anger in his eyes suggested that he was going to deal sternly with the apprentices who had put him in such an invidious position. When he was unexpectedly placed on duty for the entire Feastday, he knew why the roster had been changed. He also knew better than to blame Piemur.

  Once Menolly and the journeymen had left them, Robinton turned again to Silvina, showing all the anxiety and concern he had kept hidden.

  “Now, don’t you worry, Robinton!” Silvina said, patting him on the arm. “He’s had a frightful knock on his skull, but I could feel no crack. Those scrapes on chin and cheek’ll mend. He’ll be stiff and sore from the bruising, that’s certain. If you’d only asked me,” and Silvina’s manner indicated that she’d have her say any road, “I’d have said there were much better uses for Piemur than message drumming. He’s been a changed lad since he went to the heights. Not a peep of complaint out of him, but it’s as if he wouldn’t speak for fear of saying something that was the least bit out of line. And then Dirzan has the nerve to say that Piemur babbled drum messages!”

  They were at the Harper’s quarters now, and Silvina waited until they were within before she had her final words. “And don’t I know what he’d never whispered!”

  “And what would that be?” Robinton eyed her with wry amusement.

  “That he brought the masters’ stones down from the mine, and something else happened that day to keep him overnight, which I haven’t discovered as yet,” she added with a sigh of regret as she seated herself.

  Robinton laughed then, rubbing his fingers gently on her cheek before he came around the table and poured wine, looking at her as he suspended the wine skin above a second glass. She nodded agreement. She needed the wine after the excitement and worry over Piemur, and with the little bronze watching the boy, she didn’t need to hurry back.

  “The whole accident is my fault,” said the Harper after a long sip of wine. He seated himself heavily. “Piemur is clever, and he can keep his tongue still. Too still for his own good health, I see now. He hasn’t hinted of any trouble in the drumheights to either Menolly or Sebell . . . .”

  “They’d be the last he’d tell, except for yourself, of course.” Silvina gave a snort. “I only knew about it after the Impression at Benden. The others . . .” and Silvina wrinkled her nose in remembered distaste, . . . “treated his new clothes. I came upon him washing them, or I’d never have known either.” She chuckled with such malice the Harper had no trouble following her thought.

  “They did it while he was at Igen Hold, not knowing about the Impression?” He joined in her laughter, and Silvina knew that she’d restored his perspective of the unfortunate affair. “And to think that I placed him in the drumheights to safeguard him! You’re sure he’s sustained no lasting hurt?”

  “As sure as I can be without Master Oldive to confirm it.” Silvina spoke tartly for Master Oldive’s attendance on that worthless Lord of Nabol when he was urgently needed in the Hall aggravated her intensely.

  “Yes, Meron!” The Master Harper sighed again, one corner of his expressive mouth twitching with irritation and an inner perplexity.

  “The man’s dying. Not even all of Master Oldive’s skill can save him. And why bother with Meron? He’s better dead after all the harm he’s done. When I think that Brekke’s queen might still be alive today . . .”

  “It’s his dying that will cause even more trouble, Silvina.”

  “How?”

  “We can no more have Nabol Hold in contention than we can Ruatha Hold—”

  “But Nabol has a dozen heirs of full blood—”

  “Meron won’t name his successor!”

  “Oh.” Silvina’s exclamation of startled comprehension was followed quickly by a second of utter disgust. “What more could you expect of that man? But surely steps can be taken. I doubt that Master Oldive would scruple against . . .”

  Master Robinton held up his hand. “Nabol has been cursed with Holders either too ambitious, too selfish, or too incompetent to render it in any way prosperous . . .”

  “To be sure, it’s not the best of Holds, stuck in the mountains, cold, damp, harsh.”

  “Quite right. So there’s little sense in forcing combat on the full-Blooded heirs when one might just end up with another unsympathetic and uncooperative Lord.”

  Silvina narrowed her eyes in thought. “I make it nine or ten full-Blooded close male heirs. Those daughters of Meron’s are too young to be married, and none of them will ever be pretty, taking after their sire as they all seem to have had the misfortune to do. Which of those nine—”

  “Ten . . .”

  “Which would get the most support from the small holders and crafthalls? And how, pray tell, does Piemur fit into . . . ah, but, of course.” A smile smoothed Silvina’s frown, and she raised her glass to toast the Harper’s ingenuity. “He did well then at Igen Hold?”

  “Indeed he did, though Igen’s a loyal group under any circumstances.”

  Silvina caught his slight emphasis on the word “loyal,” and scrutinized his thoughtful face. “Why ‘loyal’? And to whom? Surely there’s no more disloyalty to Benden?”

  Robinton gave a quick negative shake of his head. “Several disquieting rumors have come to my notice. The most worrying, the fact that Nabol abounds with fire lizards . . .”

  “Nabol has no shoreline and scarcely any friends in Holds that do acquire what fire lizards are found.”

  Robinton agreed. “They have also been ordering, and paying for, large quantities of fine cloth, wines, the delicacies of Nerat, Tillek and Keroon, not to mention every sort of mongery from the Smithcrafthall that can be bought or bartered, quantities and qualities enough to garb, feed and supply amply every holder, cot and hold in Nabol . . . and don’t!”

  “The Oldtimers!” Silvina emphasized that guess with a snap of her fingers. “T’kul and Meron were always two cuts from the same rib.”

  “What I cannot figure out is what besides fire lizards the association gains Meron . . .”

  “You can’t?” Silvina was frankly skeptical. “Spite! Malice! Scoring off Benden!”

  Robinton reflected on that opinion, turning his wine glass idly by the stem. “I’d like to know . . .”

  “Yes, you would!” Silvina grinned at him, tolerance for his foibles as well as affection in her glance. “You and Piemur are paired in that respect. He has the same insatiable urge to know, and he’s a dab hand at finding out, too. Is that why you want his head mended? You’re sending him up to Candler at Nabol Hold?”

  “No . . .” and the Harper drawled the word, pulling at his lower lip. “No, not directly to Nabol Hold. Meron might recognize him: the man’s never been a fool, just perverted in principle.”

  “Just?” Silvina was disgusted.

  “I’d like to know what’s going on there.”

  “Today is not likely to be the last time Meron summons Master Oldive . . . .” she said, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

  Robinton brushed aside the notion. “I hear that a Gather’s been scheduled at Nabol on the same sevenday as Lord Groghe’s . . . .”

  “Isn’t that just like Meron.”

  “Consequently, no one would expect Hall harpers to be in attendance,” and Robinton ended his sentence on an upswing of tone, eyeing Silvina hopefully.

  “The boy’ll be fit enough for a Gather, and undoubtedly it’s kinder to send him away from the Hall on that particular day. Tilgin’s come along amazingly.”

  “Could he do aught else?” asked Robinton with real humor in his voice, “with b
oth Shonagar and Domick spending every waking moment with him?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  PIEMUR DRIFTED IN and out of sleep for the rest of that day and most of the next, immeasurably reassured and comforted by the presence of Rocky or Lazy and Mimic who spelled the bronze fire lizard.

  If Menolly’s fire lizards were with him, he reasoned, during the moments he drifted into consciousness, then Master Robinton couldn’t be annoyed that he’d been stupid enough to fall and hurt himself just when the Harper needed him. For that was how Piemur construed the Harper’s urgent query about his injury. He fretted, too, about what Clell and the others might do with his possessions until he saw his press against the wall beside his bed.

  The first time Silvina appeared with a tray of food, he didn’t feel like eating.

  “You’re not likely to be sick again,” she told him in a low but firm voice, settling on his bed to spoon the rich broth into him. “That was due to the crack you gave your head. You need the nourishment of this broth, so open your mouth. Too bad we can’t numbweed the inside of your head, but we can’t. Never thought to see the day you weren’t ready to eat. Now, there’s the lad. You’ll feel right as ever in a day or two more. Don’t mind if you seem to want to sleep. That’s only natural. And here’s Rocky to keep you company again.”

  “Who’s been feeding him?”

  “Don’t sit up!” Silvina’s hand pressed him back into the half-reclining position. “You’ll spill the broth. I suspect Sebell gave Menolly a hand. Not to worry. You’ll be back at that chore soon enough!”

  Piemur caught at her skirt as she made a move. “There was grease on those steps, wasn’t there, Silvina?” Piemur had to ask the question, because he couldn’t really trust what he thought he’d heard.

  “Indeed and there was!” Silvina frowned, pursing her lips in an angry line. Then she patted his hand. “Those little sneaks saw you fall, scampered down and washed the grease off the steps and handrail . . . but,” she added in a sharper tone, “they forgot there’d be grease on your boot as well!” Another pat on his arm. “You might say, they slipped up there!”

  For a moment, Piemur couldn’t believe that Silvina was joshing him, and then he had to giggle.

  “There! That’s more like you, Piemur. Now, rest! That’ll set you right quicker than you realize. And likely to be the last good rest you’ll get for a while.”

  She wouldn’t say more, encouraging him to go back to sleep, and slipping out of the room without giving him any hint to the plans for his future. If his things were here, he didn’t think he’d be going back to the drumheights. Where else could he be placed at the Hall? He tried to examine this problem, but his mind wouldn’t work. Probably Silvina had laced that broth with something. Wouldn’t surprise him if she had.

  Complacent fire lizard chirpings roused him. Beauty was conferring with Lazy and Mimic, who were perched on the end of the bed. No one else was in the room, and then Beauty disappeared. Shortly, while he was fretting that no one seemed to be bothering about him, Menolly quietly pushed the door open, carrying a tray in her free hand, and followed by Rocky. Beauty could hear shouting, and he could smell baked fish.

  “If that’s more sloppy stuff . . .” he began petulantly.

  “’Tisn’t. Baked fish, some tubers, and a special bubbly pie that Abuna insisted would improve your appetite.”

  “Improve it? I’m starving.”

  Menolly grinned at his vehemence and positioned the tray on his lap, then seated herself at the end of the bed. He was immensely relieved that Menolly had no intention of feeding him like a babe. It had been embarrassing enough with Silvina.

  “Master Oldive checked you over last night when he returned. Said you undoubtedly have the hardest head in the Hall. And you’re not going back to the drumheights.” Her expression was as grim as Silvina’s had been. “No,” she added when she saw him glance at his press, “no more pranks. I checked. And I checked with Silvina to be sure all your things are accounted for.” She grinned, then, her eyes twinkling. “Clell and the other dimglows are on water rations, and they won’t get to the Gather!”

  Piemur groaned.

  “And why not? They deserve restriction. Pranks are one thing, but deliberately conspiring to injure—and you could have been killed by their mischief—is an entirely different matter. Only . . .” and Menolly shook her head in perplexity, “. . . I can’t think what you did to rile them so.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Piemur said so emphatically that he slopped the water glass on his tray.

  Rocky chirped anxiously, and Beauty took up the note in her trill.

  “I believe you, Piemur.” She squeezed his toes where they poked up the sleeping furs. “I do! And, would you also believe, that that’s why you had trouble? They kept expecting you to do some typical Piemur tricks, and you were so busy behaving for the first time since you apprenticed here, no one could credit it. Least of all Dirzan, who knew all too much about you and your ways!” She gave his toes another affectionate tweak. “And you, bursting your guts with discretion to the point where you didn’t tell me or Sebell what you bloody ought to have. We didn’t mean for you to stop talking altogether, you know.”

  “I thought you were testing me.”

  “Not that hard, Piemur. When I found out what Dirzan . . . no, eat all your tubers,” and she snatched from his grasp the plate with the still bubbling pie.

  “You know I only like ’em hot!”

  “Eat all your dinner first. You’ll need your strength, and wits. You’re to go with Sebell to Nabol Hold for Meron’s Gather. That’ll get you away from here during Tilgin’s singing, though he has improved tremendously—and no one at Nabol will be expecting any extra harpers. Not that they’ve all that much to sing about in Nabol Hold anyhow.”

  “Lord Meron’s still alive?”

  “Yes.” Menolly sighed with distaste, then cocked her head slightly. “You know, your bruises might just come in very handy. They’re just purpling beautifully now, so they won’t have faded . . . .”

  “You mean,” and Piemur affected a tremulous whine in his voice, “I’m the poor apprentice lad whose master beats up on him?”

  Menolly chuckled. “You’re on the mend.”

  Late that evening, a dust-grayed, raggedly dressed man peered around the door and shuffled slowly into the room, never taking his eyes from Piemur’s face. At first, Piemur thought that the man might be a cotholder, looking for Master Oldive’s quarters on the Hall’s social level; but the fellow, though initially hesitant and almost fearful in his attitude, altered perceptibly in manner and stance as he came closer to the bed.

  “Sebell?” There was something about the man that made Piemur suspicious. “Sebell, is that you?”

  The dusty figure straightened and strode across the floor, laughing.

  “Now I’m sure I can gain a discreet arrival at the Nabol Hold Gather! I fooled Silvina, too. She says you still have some rags that will be appropriate to the status of a rather stupid herder’s boy!”

  “Herder’s boy?”

  “Why not? Kum in handy, like, tha’ knowin’ the way from tha’ bluid, like.” As Sebell affected the speech mannerisms of the up-range herders, he became completely the nondescript person who had first entered the infirmary.

  Despite his chagrin at being told to resume a role he’d hoped never to play again, Piemur was enchanted by the journeyman’s dissembling. If Sebell would do it, so would he.

  “Master Robinton’s not angry with me, is he?”

  ‘Not a mite.” Sebell shook his head violently for emphasis. Kimi swooped in, scolding because Sebell had made her wait outside. Then his expression became serious, and he waggled a finger at Piemur. “However, you will have to watch your step with Master Oldive. We’ve sworn blue to him this isn’t going to be an energetic adventure for you. Even heads as hard as yours must be treated with caution after such a fall. So, instead of hiking you in from Ruatha Hold as I’d planned,” and Sebell gave
a mock scowl at Piemur’s burst of laughter, “N’ton will drop you off at dawn in the valley before Nabol Hold. Then we’ll proceed at a proper pace with beasts suitable for sale at the Nabol Gather.”

  “Why?” asked Piemur bluntly. Discretion had got him nothing but misery, confusion and unwarranted accusations. This time he would know what he was about.

  “Two things,” Sebell said without so much as a pause for consideration. “If it’s true that there are more fire lizards in Nabol Hold than—”

  “Is that what they meant?”

  “Is that what who meant?”

  “Lord Oterel. At the Hatching. I overheard him talking to someone . . . didn’t know the man . . . and he said, ‘Meron gets more than he ought and we have to do without.’ Didn’t make sense then, but it would if Lord Oterel was talking about fire lizards. Was he?”

  “He very likely was, and I wish you’d mentioned that snip of talk before.”

  “I didn’t know you’d want to know, and it made no sense to me then.” Piemur ended on a plaintive note, seeing Sebell’s frown of irritation.

  The journeyman smiled a quick reassurance. “No, you couldn’t’ve known. Now you do. We know that Lord Meron had his first fire lizards from Kylara nearly four Turns ago, so they could have clutched at least once, possibly twice. And he’d’ve made certain he had control of the distribution of those new eggs. Nonetheless, he has distributed more in Nabol than we can account for. What is equally important is the amount of other supplies that are being brought into the Hold and . . . disappearing!”

  “Meron’s trading with the Oldtimers?”

  “Lord Meron, lad, you don’t forget the title even in your thoughts . . . and yes, that’s the possibility.”

  “And he’s getting whole clutches of fire lizard eggs for trading for ’em? As well as the eggs of his original pairs?” Piemur was assailed by a variety of emotions: anger that Lord Meron of Nabol Hold was getting more than a fair share of the fire lizard eggs when other, more worthy persons, Piemur included himself, ought to have a chance to Impress the precious creatures; a righteous indignation that Lord Meron (and he slurred the title into an insult in his thoughts) was deliberately flouting Benden Weyr by trafficking in any way with the Oldtimers; and an intense excitement at the possibility that he, Piemur, might help discredit further this infamous Lord Holder.