Dragonsong (22 page)

‘Do you think there’s enough here for a starving man?’ asked Masterharper Robinton, his voice so plaintive and faint with his pretended hunger that Menolly was startled into glancing up at him. His expression was at once so wistful, appealing and kind that, despite her deep chagrin, she smiled in response to his foolishness. ‘I’ll need strength for this evening’s work, and a base for my drinking,’ he added in a very quiet, worried voice.

She had the feeling that he had let her share his responsibilities, but she wondered at the sadness and anxiety. Surely everyone in the Weyr was happy today?

‘A few slices of meat on a slab of that good bread,’ and Robinton made his voice quaver like a peevish old uncle’s. ‘And …’ his voice returned to his normal baritone range, ‘a cup of good Benden wine to wash it down …’

To her consternation, he rose then, bread and meat in one hand, the wine mug in the other. He bowed to her with great dignity and, with a smile, was off.

‘But, Masterharper, your fire lizard eggs …’

‘Later, Menolly. I’ll come back later for them.’

His tall figure, his head visible above the bustling activity, retreated across the cavern,
away
from her. She watched until he was out of sight amid the visitors, bewildered, and all too keenly aware that there was no way in which she would be able to ask Masterharper Robinton about her songs. Twiddles they were, as Yanus and Mavi had always said: too insignificant to be presented for serious consideration to such a man as Masterharper Robinton.

Beauty crooned softly and headstroked Menolly’s cheek. Rocky hopped down from his wall perch to her shoulder. He nuzzled her ear, humming in a consoling tone.

Mirrim found her that way, and she roused from her apathy to rejoice with her friend.

‘Oh, I’m so very happy for you, Mirrim. You see it did come right!’ If Mirrim, with all her worries, had been able to keep a good face, surely Menolly, with much to be grateful for, could manage to follow her example.

‘Did you see it? You
were
in the Hatching Ground? I was so terrified that I didn’t dare watch,’ Mirrim said, no trace of terror now in her radiant face. ‘I made Brekke eat, the first food she’s taken in just days. And she smiled at me, Menolly. She smiled at me, and she knew me. She’s going to be perfectly all right. And F’nor ate every speck of the roast wherry I brought him.’ She giggled, all mischievous
girl
, not Mirrim-Felena, or Mirrim-Manora. ‘I snitched the best slices of the spiced wherry breast, too. And you know, he ate every bit of it! He’ll probably eat himself sick at the Feast as well. Then I told him to take poor Canth down to feed because that dragon’s just about transparent with hunger.’ Her voice dropped in awe. ‘Canth tried to protect Wirenth from Prideth, you know. Can you imagine that? A brown protecting a queen! It’s because F’nor loves Brekke so. And now it’s all right. It’s well and truly all right. So tell me.’

‘Tell you? What?’

Irritation flashed across Mirrim’s face. ‘Tell me exactly what happened when Brekke got on the Hatching Ground. I told you I didn’t dare look myself.’

So Menolly told her. And told her again until she ran out of answers to all the detailed questions Mirrim found to ask her.

‘Now you tell me why everyone’s so upset about this Jaxom Impressing the little white dragon. He saved his life, you know. The dragon would have died if Jaxom hadn’t broken the shell and cut the sac.’

‘Jaxom Impressed a dragon? I didn’t know!’ Mirrim’s eyes widened with consternation. ‘Oh! Now why would that kid do such a dreadful thing?’

‘Why is it dreadful?’

‘Because he’s got to be Lord Holder of Ruatha Hold, that’s why.’

Menolly was a bit annoyed with Mirrim’s impatience and said so.

‘Well, he can’t be Lord Holder
and
dragonrider. Didn’t you learn anything in that Sea Hold of yours? And, by the way, I saw the Half-Circle Harper, I think his name is Elgion. Shall I tell him you’re here?’

‘No!’

‘Well, no need to bite my head off.’ And with that Mirrim flounced off in a huff.

‘Menolly, will you forgive me? I completely forgot to come back for you,’ T’gellan said, striding up to the table before Menolly had a chance to catch her breath. ‘Look, the Masterminer is supposed to have two eggs. He can’t stay for the whole Feast, so we’ve got to fix something for him to carry the eggs home in. And the rest of the eggs as well. No, don’t get up. Here, you, come be feet for Menolly,’ he ordered, beckoning to one of the weyrboys.

So Menolly spent most of that evening in the kitchen cavern sewing furry bags to carry eggs safely
between
. But she could hear all the jollity outside; and with no small effort, she made herself enjoy the singing. Five Harpers, two
drummers
and three pipers made music for the Impression Feast. She thought she recognized Elgion’s strong tenor in one song, but it was unlikely he’d look for her at the back of the kitchen cavern.

His voice made her briefly homesick for seawinds and the taste of salty air; briefly, too, she longed for the solitude of her cave. Only briefly; this Weyr was the place for her. Her feet would heal soon; she’d no longer be Old-Auntie-Sit-by-the-Fire. So how would she make her place in the Weyr? Felena had enough cooks, and how often would the Weyr, used to meat when it wished, want to eat fish? Even if she knew more ways of preparing it than anyone else? When she came down to it, the only thing in which she excelled was gutting fish. No, she would not think about harpering anymore. Well, there had to be something she could do.

‘Are you Menolly?’ asked a man tentatively.

She looked up to see one of the minercrafts-men who’d shared her tier at the Impression.

‘I’m Nicat, Masterminer of Crom Hold. Weyrwoman Lessa said that I was to have two fire lizard eggs.’

Beyond his stiff manner, Menolly could see he was restraining an eager impatience to hold fire lizard eggs of his own.

‘Indeed I have sir, right here,’ she said, smiling warmly at him and indicating the table-protected basket.

‘Well, my word,’ and his manner thawed visibly, ‘you’re taking no chances, are you.’

He helped her move the table and watched anxiously as she brushed back the top layer of sand and exposed the first of the eggs.

‘Could I have a queen egg?’ he asked.

‘Master Nicat, Lessa explained to you that there’s no way of telling which is which among the fire lizard eggs,’ said T’gellan, joining them to Menolly’s intense relief. ‘Of course, Menolly might have a way of telling …’

‘She might?’ Masterminer Nicat regarded her with surprise.

‘She’s Impressed nine, you know.’

‘Nine?’ Master Nicat frowned at her now, and she could practically read his mind: Nine for a child, and only two for the Masterminer?

‘Pick Master Nicat two of the best, Menolly! We don’t want him to be disappointed.’ Although T’gellan’s face was sober, Menolly caught the expression in his eyes.

She managed to conduct herself with proper dignity and made a play of picking out just the right eggs for Masterminer Nicat, all the while being certain in her own mind that the queen egg was going to Masterharper Robinton only.

‘Here you are, sir,’ she said, handing Master miner Nicat the furry pouch with its precious contents. ‘You’d best carry them in your riding jacket, against your skin, on the way home.’

‘Then what do I do?’ Master Nicat asked with humility as he held the sack in both hands against his chest.

Menolly looked at T’gellan, but both men were looking at her. She gulped.

‘Well, I’d do exactly what we’re doing here. Keep them near the hearth in a strong basket with either hot sand or furs. The Weyrwoman said they’d be hatching in about a sevenday. Feed them as soon as they break their shells, as much as they can eat, and talk to them all the time. It’s important to …’ She faltered; how could she tell this hard-faced man that you had to be affectionate and kind …

‘You must reassure them constantly. They’re nervous when they’re first hatched. You saw the dragons today. Touch them and stroke them …’ The Masterminer was nodding as he catalogued her instructions. ‘They must be bathed daily, and their skins must be oiled. You can always tell when a crack is developing from scaly patches on the hide. And they keep scratching themselves …’

Master Nicat turned questioningly to T’gellan.

‘Oh, Menolly knows what to do. Why, she has her fire lizards singing tunes along with her and all …’

T’gellan’s airy assurance did not sit too well with the Masterminer.

‘Yes, but how do you get them to come to you?’ he asked pointedly.

‘You make them
want
to come back to you,’ Menolly said so firmly that she rated one of the Miner’s daunting frowns.

‘Kindness and affection, Master Nicat, are the essential ingredients,’ T’gellan said with equal force. ‘Now I see that T’gran is waiting to escort you, and your fire lizards, back to Crom.’ And he led the Masterminer off.

When T’gellan returned to Menolly, his eyes were dancing.

‘I’ll wager you my new tunic that one won’t keep a fire lizard. Cold clod, that’s what he is. Numbwit!’

‘You shouldn’t have said that about my fire lizards singing with me.’

‘Why not?’ T’gellan was surprised at her criticism. ‘Mirrim hasn’t done that much with her three, and she’s had them longer. I told … Ah, yes, Craftmaster, F’lar did indeed say that you’re to have a fire lizard egg.’

And so the evening went, with lucky eager holders and craftsmen arriving to collect the
precious
fire lizard eggs. By the time only Masterharper Robinton’s eggs remained in the warm sands of the basket, Menolly had become resigned to hearing T’gellan’s wheeze that she had taught her fair of fire lizards to sing. Fortunately no-one asked her to put it to the test, since her weary friends were curled up on their wall perches. They hadn’t roused from sleep for all the singing and laughter at the merry tables in the Bowl.

Harper Elgion was thoroughly enjoying the Impression Feast. He hadn’t realized how dour Half-Circle Hold was until this evening. Yanus was a good man, a fine Sea Holder to judge by the respect his holders accorded him, but he certainly knew how to take the joy out of living.

When Elgion had sat in the Hatching Ground, watching the young boys Impress, he’d determined that he’d find a fire lizard clutch of his own. That would alleviate the gloom at Half-Circle. And he’d see that Alemi got an egg, too. He’d heard from his neighbors in the tiers that the clutch being distributed this evening to the fortunate had been found down the coast from Half-Circle Sea Hold by T’gellan. Elgion had promised himself a chat with the bronze dragonrider;
but
T’gellan had had two passengers aboard Monarth when he’d collected Elgion at Half-Circle so there’d been no opportunity to talk. Elgion hadn’t seen the man since the Hatching. But he’d bide his time.

Meanwhile, Oharan, the Weyr Harper, had Elgion playing gitar with him to amuse the visitors.

Elgion had just finished another tune with Oharan and some of the other visiting harpers when he caught sight of T’gellan, assisting a craftsman to mount a green dragon. It was then that Elgion noticed that the visitors were thinning out and this rare evening was drawing to a close. He’d speak with T’gellan, and then seek out the Masterharper, too.

‘Over here, man,’ he said, beckoning to the bronze rider.

‘Oh, Elgion, a cup of wine, please. I’m parched with talking. Not that it’ll do those cold clods much good. They’ve no feeling for fire lizards at all.’

‘I heard you found the clutch. It wasn’t in that cave by the Dragon Stones, was it?’

‘By the Dragon Stones? No. Way down the coast in fact.’

‘Then there wasn’t anything there?’ Elgion was so bitterly disappointed that T’gellan gave him a long look.

‘Depends on what you were expecting. Why? What did you think would be in that cave if it didn’t hold fire lizard eggs?’

Elgion wondered briefly if he would be betraying Alemi’s confidence. But it had become a matter of his professional honor to know if the sounds he’d heard from that cave had been made by pipes.

‘The day Alemi and I saw the cave from the boat, I could have sworn I heard pipes. Alemi insisted it was wind over blowholes in the cliff, but there wasn’t that much wind that day.’

‘No,’ T’gellan said, seeing a chance to tease the Harper, ‘you heard pipes. I saw ’em when I searched the place.’

‘You found pipes? Where was the player?’

‘Sit down. Why’re you so excited?’

‘Where’s that player?’

‘Oh, here at Benden Weyr.’

Elgion sat down again, so deflated and disappointed that T’gellan forbore to tease him further.

‘Remember the day we rescued you from Thread? T’gran brought someone in as well.’

‘The lad?’

‘That was no lad. That was a girl. Menolly. She’d been living in the cave … Now, what’s the matter?’

‘Menolly? Here? Safe? Where’s the Masterharper? I’ve got to find Master Robinton. Come, T’gellan, help me find him!’

Elgion’s excitement was contagious and though he was mystified, T’gellan joined the search. Taller than the young Harper, T’gellan spotted Master Robinton in deep conversation with Manora at a quiet table in the Bowl.

‘Sir, sir, I’ve found her,’ Elgion cried, dashing up to them.

‘Have you now? The love of your life?’ asked Master Robinton amiably.

‘No, sir. I’ve found Petiron’s apprentice.’

‘Her? The old man’s apprentice was a girl?’

Elgion was gratified by the Masterharper’s surprise and grabbed at his hand, quite prepared to drag the man after him to search.

‘She ran away from the Sea Hold, because they wouldn’t let her make music, I think. She’s Alemi’s sister …’

‘What’s this about Menolly?’ asked Manora, obstructing Elgion’s flight with the Harper.

‘Menolly?’ Robinton raised his hand to silence Elgion. ‘That lovely child with the nine fire lizards?’

‘What do you want of Menolly, Master Robinton?’ Manora’s voice was so stern that the Harper was brought up sharp.

He took a deep breath. ‘My much respected
Manora,
old Petiron sent me two songs written by his “apprentice”; two of the loveliest melodies I’ve heard in all my Turns of harpering. He asked were they any good …’ Robinton raised his eyes heavenward for patience, ‘I sent word back immediately, but the old man had died. Elgion found my message unopened when he got to the Sea Hold, and then he couldn’t find the apprentice. The Sea Holder gave him some folderol about a fosterling who’d returned to his own hold. What’s distressing you, Manora?’