Masterharper of Pern (10 page)

CHAPTER VI

H
IS MOTHER NEVER
did explain exactly why she came to his classroom that morning, to speak quietly and briefly to Kubisa, whose face gave away nothing. She just gave him his heavy jacket to put on, while she cleared the contents of his desk into a carisak, adding the roll of things that Kubisa handed her.

There was something about his mother’s attitude that warned Robinton not to ask questions. The rest of the children in the classroom were whispering excitedly; two had even left their seats and were peering out the window.

That was when Robinton saw the wing claws of a bronze dragon in the courtyard.

“I don’t think you’ll mind riding a dragon today, dear,” his mother said, as she carefully closed the classroom door behind her. She had the half-full carisak clutched under her arm and took his hand to guide him down the steep steps.

“Ride a dragon?” He stumbled in surprise, and was glad of the tight hold she had on his hand.

“Yes, we’re going to Benden Hold. Lord Maidir sent a dragon for us.”

“He sent a dragon for
us
?”

Robinton was floored. Yet there were Betrice and Masters Bosler and Washell, handing up carisaks to the bronze rider, who was securing them to the dragon’s harness. As his mother briskly rushed him across the court to the dragon, he looked about for his father.

“Your father’s not coming with us,” his mother said with an odd catch to her voice. Before he could protest, she had swung him off his feet and up to the bronze rider’s waiting arms. Then she mounted and sat behind him.

I am Spakinth and my rider is C’rob. Cortath and Kilminth say you hear us.

“I’m going to get to ride you?” Robinton asked, his voice nearly a squeak in his excitement.

“You’re certainly getting to ride my dragon,” the rider said.

Robinton tried to crane his head around and look up at C’rob. “Yes, I am,” he said. Then he realized he was holding on to the neck ridge in front of him in a fierce grip, and instantly relaxed. “Oh, I beg your pardon! I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Of course not, the ridge is there to hold on to,
Spakinth said in the same instant C’rob laughed and said, “You won’t hurt a dragon that way, lad.” And then he leaned to one side and regarded Robinton with raised eyebrows. “But then Spakinth is telling you, too, isn’t he?” The rider seemed surprised.

Robinton grinned back, flexing his fingers around the ridge just for the feel of it. “Cortath and Kilminth have spoken to me, too.”

“Have they . . .” And then C’rob’s attention was taken by Merelan’s arrival behind him. “Just hang onto my belt there, Mastersinger,” the rider said. “I’ve your son safely tucked forward.”

“Then may we leave?”

Robinton thought his mother must be as excited as he was to be mounted on a dragon, because her voice, when she answered, was quavery.

In the next instant, his head was thrown back against C’rob’s chest as Spakinth sprang upward. Robinton barely heard himself let out a whoosh of “ohhhhhh” over the noise the wings made . . . like all the sheets in the Harper Hall flapping in the wind on the laundry line.

He squealed again as Spakinth circled eastward, spiraling higher, the tall roofs of the Harper Hall buildings diminishing so fast he hadn’t breath for a second cry of amazement as the spiral took them high over Fort Hold’s massive precipice. Briefly he saw white faces turned skyward and wondered if they could recognize him perched in front of the dragonrider on bronze Spakinth.

“Don’t be afraid, now, Robinton,” C’rob said, almost shouting in his ear. “We’re going
between . . .
”

And then they were! Robinton held his breath, far more terrified of the awful cold nothingness around him than of the worst of his childish nightmares.

I am here. You ride me with C’rob and the woman. I will keep you safe, young Robinton.

And before a scream of fear could rise in Robinton’s throat, they were out of the cold and the black and wheeling above another Hold cliff.

“That’s Benden below you, lad.” C’rob patted his shoulder. “And not a peep out of you. Nor did you wet your breeches.”

Robinton was stunned by such a shocking suggestion and stiffened under C’rob’s hand. Very quietly, so not even Spakinth could hear and think badly of him, Robinton knew that, just a moment longer in frigid
between
and he might well have disgraced himself.

Many do, young Robinton, but never you.

And young Robinton sat up straighter and loosened the viselike grip he found he had taken on the neck ridge. He hoped dragons didn’t bruise, and he smoothed the places where his fingers actually had made an imprint. Spakinth said nothing, as he was busy landing, which required powerful backwinging to set himself down just in front of the steps up to the smaller outer court of Benden Hold.

“They’re here! Spakinth and C’rob brought them. She’s come!” And out of the wide open front door a crowd of children spilled.

Spakinth curved his neck and lowered his head toward those racing down the steps.

Always noisy, always noisy,
the dragon said, more to himself than to either his rider or Robinton. Robinton was later to learn that C’rob had fathered five children at Benden Weyr, and consequently his dragon was well able to handle the swarm that converged on him, stroking his hide and his eye ridges when he lowered them enough.

Then Lord Maidir and Lady Hayara, who was carrying one child and obviously pregnant with another, came out to welcome the Mastersinger and her son. As Merelan slid down Spakinth’s side, C’rob settled Robinton between the next two ridges up so he could stand on Spakinth’s lifted foreleg and assist the boy to the ground. Holder children swarmed up the dragon’s side—momentarily stunning Robinton with what seemed like rudeness to him—to untie the carisaks. They weren’t the least bit afraid, as Libby and Lexey had been, but then, Robie thought, they’d be used to dragons at Benden Hold, since Benden Weyr was still inhabited. Each grinned at Robinton, identifying themselves politely, but he was so confused by the onslaught of new impressions and their enthusiasm that he couldn’t remember who was who. Then his mother took him by the hand and led him to be formally introduced to the Holders.

He bowed before he shook hands, just as he’d been taught, and was rewarded with smiles.

“We want you to be happy here at Benden Hold,” Lady Hayara said.

Robinton thought she looked very young, not much older than Halanna, and Lord Maidir looked older than even Master Gennell. Then Lord Maidir gestured for the stocky lad, standing just behind him, to come forward.

“This is Raid, my eldest son, Mastersinger,” the Lord Holder said with pride, laying an arm across the boy’s shoulders.

A shaft of totally incomprehensible envy swept Robinton. His father had never done that. His father didn’t even touch him—that he could remember. And then a girl, not as old as Raid, pushed through to Raid’s other side, neatly pushing Lady Hayara aside. And Robinton caught a quickly hidden flare of dismay on Lady Hayara’s face and the indifferent look on the girl’s.

“And this is my eldest daughter,” Lord Maidir said, “Maizella.”

“I’m so glad you’ve come, Mastersinger,” Maizella began in a fervent tone, and stepped forward to grab and cling to Merelan’s hand, her eyes round with excitement and her voice coming out breathily.

“Our Maizella has a lovely voice,” Maidir said, proudly, “and Raid, if you can overcome his shyness, has an excellent baritone. Falloner there, the one with all the curls, still has a fine clear treble . . .”

As Falloner was just then standing close to Robinton, he gave him a “what can you do with adults” shrug and grin—and that was their first meeting.

“Oh, you,” Lady Hayara said, stepping closer to her spouse now that Maizella had moved.

Robinton sighed. He knew by the expression on Maizella’s face and her stance that his mother was going to have trouble with this one. He saw by the quirk of his mother’s mouth that she realized it, too. But Merelan smiled soothingly and said that she’d be delighted to teach any and all who wanted to learn how to sing properly.

“Actually, she shrieks more than she sings,” Falloner said in a low voice to Robinton, and the merriment in his eyes was conspiratorial. “Did you like riding Spakinth? C’rob won the toss. He usually does.” Then, when the lad saw that he had confused Robinton with this confidence, he added, “I’m weyrbred, but my father insisted that I get some teaching here. So here I am.”

“You’re weyrbred?” Robinton eyed the lad.

“I am, and I don’t have a tail or fangs, nor will I, even if I Impress a bronze.” The boy’s thin face momentarily stiffened with determination before the careless grin replaced it. “And I will. And be Weyrleader and save Pern from Threadfall.”

“Really? Cortath said that dragons must fly when Thread is in the sky.”

“You better believe it,” Falloner said stoutly. Then he blinked in surprise. “Cortath spoke to you?”

“Falloner.”

Both boys turned at Lord Maidir’s voice.

“You know the quarters made ready for the Mastersinger and young Robinton,” Benden’s Lord went on. “Why don’t you show him the way and take up his things?”

“Of course, Lord Maidir,” Falloner said with quick courtesy. He turned to Robinton. “Which are yours?”

Robie looked at the pile on the steps and wasn’t quite sure. Their departure had certainly been swift. Mother had packed for him.

“The two with the red straps,” Merelan said, pointing and giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “And that small one there.” Robinton did recognize that as the one in which she had put the contents of his desk, and while that wasn’t very long ago, it seemed to him that a great deal had happened in a very short time.

Falloner threw the school sack at him and then hefted the other two, though Robinton tried to take one from him.

“Nah, let me. This once,” Falloner said and added, grinning, “You don’t know how many steps there are to your quarters. C’mon.”

They started into the Hold then, hearing Maizella and Raid squabble briefly over who was to have the honor of taking the Mastersinger’s carisaks. The other youngsters were vying for the chance to show her the schoolroom, and the adults were attempting to contain all the youthful spirits and enthusiasm.

Robinton had been in the Great Hall of Fort Hold often enough to recognize immediately that Benden was not as big. Fort had been the first Hold; Benden had come much later and had had to be made without all the Ancients’ equipment that would have made the job so much faster and easier. It faced southeast, so the Hall was quite sunny, and it was as big as the Harper Hall’s main one.

“We’re not supposed to use those stairs,” Falloner said, pointing to an impressive flight that centered at the north end of the Hall, dividing at the first landing and then curving left and right. “Holder’s family lives to the right, the outside tier.” He led Robinton through a door to a little hallway. “These are what we use, and don’t make a mistake and get caught taking the shortcut.”

The Hall seemed to go up forever, where a dim rectangle cast some light down it, abetting the glowbaskets that were spaced along the walls. The steps seemed to have been carved out of the solid stone of the Hold and were slightly worn in places from centuries of use.

They seemed to be climbing a long way before Falloner struck to his right at what was actually the third landing. Then they were in a long corridor that stretched in both directions, covered with a thin padding that deadened the noise of their boots. Falloner turned left, and Robinton thought they were traveling parallel to the outer wall of the Hold. There were doors on either side of the corridor, though some of the glowbaskets clearly needed to be changed.

“One of the jobs we get,” Falloner said, grinning over his shoulder at Robinton as they passed the third of several dull ones.

“At Harper Hall the apprentices have to do it,” Robinton said, panting a bit as he tried to keep up with the longer-legged weyrboy.

“Lord Maidir’s fair and so’s Lady Hayara, so don’t believe anything Maizella says about her,” Falloner added. “How old are you?”

“Nine Turns.”

“Good,” Falloner said with approving relief.

“Why?” Robinton asked, but then they turned into a much broader corridor, its floor carpeted so they moved more quietly. It was just like the masters’ level in the Harper Hall.

“We’re nearly there,” Falloner said, “and we beat the others here.” He grinned in triumph and pushed wide the half-opened door, gesturing for Robinton to precede him.

“This is where we’ll be living?” Robinton exclaimed, pivoting on one heel to see all around him. There were four high but narrow windows, letting sunlight spill into a room that was much bigger than theirs at the Harper Hall. There was even a standing harp in one corner, which made Robinton decide that this must be a schoolroom, too, which would account for its generous size—except there were no desks or enough tables to seat even half the children who had thronged the courtyard entrance.

“You’ll be in here,” Falloner told him, striding across the thick rugs to a door on the right. Robinton crossed quickly to join him and looked in at a room much the same size as his had been at home. He was much relieved. Falloner took his school sack from him and lobbed it to the bed and dropped the other two on the floor. Then, tugging Robinton by the arm, he took him across the room toward the two doors set in the left-hand wall. “Even have your own bath,” he said, opening the innermost door and uncovering a glowbasket to show the sanitary amenities. At home, they had a toilet and a wash basin in their quarters, but not a full bath like this, with a tub long enough for his height. His mother would love that.

The outer door opened into another bedroom, as grandly furnished but not as large as the main room, and still bigger than the one his mother and father shared at the Harper Hall.

He whistled in surprise and approval, turning his head this way and that to take in all the furniture and even the paintings hung on the walls.