Dragon Drums
by Anne McCaffrey


Chapter 1

The rumble-thud-boom of the big drums answering a mes-
sage from the east roused Piemur. In his five Turns at the
Harper Craft Hall, he had never become accustomed to
that bone-throbbing noise. Perhaps, he thought, sleepily
turning over, if the drums beat every dawn, or in the same
sequence, he'd get accustomed enough to sleep through it.
But he doubted that. He was naturally a light sleeper, a
talent picked up when he'd been a herder's boy and had to
keep an ear awake for night alarms among the runner
beasts. The facility had often been to his advantage since
the other apprentices in his dormitory couldn't sneak up on
him with vengeance in mind. And he was often awakened
by discreet, dragon-borne visitors coming to see the Mas-
terharper of Pern, or the arrivals and departures of Master
Robinton himself, for he was surely one of the most impor-
tant men on Pern; almost as influential as F'lar and Lessa,
the Weyrleaders of Benden. Occasionally, too, on warm
summer nights, when the shutters of the main hall were
thrown back, the masters and journeymen assuming all the
apprentices slept, he'd hear fascinating and uninhibited
talk drifting on the night air. A small fellow like himself
had to keep ahead of everyone else, and listening often
showed him how.

As he tried to get back to sleep for just a little longer in
the gray dawn, the drum sequence echoed in his mind. The
message had originated from Ista Hold's harper: he had
caught the identifying signature. He couldn't be sure of
the rest of the message: something about a ship. Maybe he
ought to learn message-drum beats. Not that they came in
with such frequency now that .more and more people
owned little fire lizards to take messages round and about
Pern.

He wondered when he'd get his hands on a fire lizard

egg. Menolly had promised him one when her queen,
Beauty, mated. A nice thought on her part, Piemur re-
flected, realistically aware that Menolly might not be able
to distribute Beauty's eggs as she wished. Master Robinton
would want them placed to the Harper Hall's advantage.
And Piemur couldn't fault Master Robinton. One day,
though, he'd have his fire lizard. A queen, or, at least,
a bronze.

Piemur folded his hands behind his head, musing on
such a delightful prospect. From having helped Menolly
feed her nine, he knew a fair bit about them now. More
than some people who had fire lizards, the same people
who'd been claiming for Turns that fire lizards were boy's
sun-dreams. That is, until F'nor, brown Canth's rider, had
Impressed a little queen on a beach in the southern conti-
nent. Then Menolly, halfway across Pern, had saved a fire
lizard queen's eggs from being drowned in the unusually
high tides of that Turn. Now everyone wanted a fire liz-
ard, and admitted that they must be tiny cousins to the
great dragons of Pern.

Piemur shivered with delighted terror. Thread had
fallen over Fort Hold yesterday. They'd been rehearsing
Master Domick's new saga about the search for Lessa and
how she'd become Weyrwoman at Benden just before the
new Pass of the Red Star, but Piemur had been much more
aware of the silvery Threads dropping through the skies
above the tightly shuttered and sealed Harper Hall. He'd
imagined, as he always did during Threadfall, the graceful
passages of the great dragons as their fiery breath charred
Thread before it could fall to the ground and devour any-
thing living, before it could burrow into the ground and
multiply. Even thinking of that phenomenon made Piemur
quiver fearfully again.

Before Master Robinton had discovered Menolly's talent
at songmaking, she'd actually lived outside her hold, car-
ing for the nine fire lizards she had Impressed from the
rescued clutch. If only, thought Piemur with a sigh, he
wasn't immured in the Crafthall; if only he had a chance
to search seashores and find his own clutch. . . . Of
course, as a mere apprentice, he'd have to give the eggs to
his Craft Master, but surely, if he found a whole clutch,
Master Robinton would let him keep one.

The sudden raucous call of a fire lizard startled him,
and he sat up in alarm. The sun was now streaming across
the outer side of the Harper Hall rectangle. He had fallen
asleep again. If Rocky was screaming, he was late to .help
feed. With deft movements, he dressed, except for his
boots, and thudded down the steps, emerging into the
courtyard just as he heard the second, more urgent sum-
mons from a hungry Rocky.

When he saw that Camo was only just trudging up the
steps outside the kitchen, clutching his bowl of scraps, Pie-
mur drew a sigh of relief. He wasn't all that late! He
thrust his feet into his boots, stuffed the laces inside to
save time, and clomped across the court just as Menolly
came down the steps from the Main Hall. Rocky, Mimic
and Lazy whirled above Piemur's head, cluttering hungrily
at him to move faster.

Piemur glanced up, looking for Beauty. Menolly had
told him that when the little queen was close to mating
time she'd seem to be more golden than ever. She was now
circling to land on Menolly's shoulder, but she seemed the
same color as ever.

"Camo feed pretties?" The kitchen drudge smiled
brightly as Menolly and Piemur reached him.

"Camo feed pretties!" Menolly and Piemur spoke the
customary reassurance in chorus, grinning at each other as
they reached for handfuls of meat scraps. Rocky and
Mimic took their accustomed perches on Piemur's shoul-
ders, while Lazy clung with far from indolent strength to
his left forearm.

Once the fire lizards settled to the business of eating,
Piemur glanced at Menolly, wondering if she'd heard the
drum message. She looked more awake than she usually did
at this hour, and slightly detached from her immediate
task. Of course, she might just be thinking up a new song,
but writing tunes was not Menolly's only duty in the Har-
per Hall.

As they fed the fire lizards, the rest of the Hall began to
stir: the drudges in the kitchen were roused to breakfast
efforts by Silvina and Abuna; in the junior and senior
dormitories, occasional shouts punctuated random noises;

and shutters on the journeyman's quarters were bemg
opened to let in the fresh morning air.




Once the fire lizards had wheeled up for their morning
stretch of wings, Piemur, Menolly and Camo separated:

Camo, with a push from Menolly, was sent back to the
kitchen; then she and Piemur went up the main steps of
the Harper Hall to the dining room.

Piemur's first class that morning was chorus, for they
were, as usual at this time of the Turn, rehearsing the
spring music for Lord Groghe's feast. Master Domick had
collaborated with Menolly this year and produced an un-
commonly singable score for his ballad about Lessa and her
golden queen dragon, Ramoth.

Piemur was to sing the part of Lessa. For once, he didn't
object to having to sing a female role. In fact, that morn-
ing he waited eagerly for the chorus to finish the passage
before his first entrance. The moment came, he opened his
mouth, and to his amazement no sound emerged.

"Wake up, Piemur," said Master Domick, irritably rap-
ping his stick on the music stand. He alerted the chorus.
"We'll repeat the measure before the entrance . . . if
you're now ready, Piemur?"

Usually Piemur could ignore Master Domick's sarcasm,
but since he had been ready to sing, he flushed uncer-
tainly. He took a breath and hummed against his closed
teeth as the chorus began again. He had tone, and his
throat wasn't sore, so he wasn't coming down with a
stuffed head.

The chorus gave him his entrance again, and he opened
his mouth. The sound that emerged ranged from one oc-
tave to another, neither of which were in the score he held.

A complete and awed silence fell. Master Domick
frowned at Piemur, who was now swallowing against a fear
that froze his feet to one spot and crept up his bones to his
heart.

"Piemur?"

"Sir?"

"Piemur, sing a scale in C."

Piemur attempted to, and on the fourth note, though he
had hardened his middle to iron for support, his voice
again broke. Master Domick put down his stick and re-
garded Piemur. If there was any expression in the Composi-
tion Master's face, it was compassion, tinged with resigned
irritation.

"Piemur, I think you had best see Master Shonagar. Til-
gin, you've been understudying the role?"

"Me, sir? I haven't so much as glanced at it. Not with
Piemur . . ." The startled apprentice's voice trailed off as
Piemur, slowly and with feet he could barely force to
move, left the chorus hall and walked across the court to-
ward Master Shonagar's room.

He tried to close his ears to the sound of Tilgin's tenta-
tive voice. Scorn gave him momentary relief from his cold.
fear. His had been a much better voice than Tilgin's would
ever be. Had been? Maybe he was just coming down with a
cold. Piemur coughed experimentally, but knew even as he
did so that no phlegm congested his lungs and throat. He
trudged on to Master Shonagar, knowing the verdict and
hoping against vain hope that somehow the flaw in his
voice was transitory, that he'd manage to keep his soprano
range long enough to sing Master Domick's music. Scuff-
ing up the steps, he paused briefly in the threshold to ac-
custom his eyes to the gloom within.

Master Shonagar would only just have arisen and break-
fasted. Piemur knew his master's habits intimately. But
Shonagar was already in his customary position, one elbow
on the wide table, propping up his massive head, the other
arm cocked against the columnar thigh.

"Veil, it's sooner than we might have expected, young
Piemur," the Master said in a quiet tone, which nonetheless
seemed to fill the room. "But the change was bound to
come sometime." A wealth of sympathy tinged the Mas-
ter's rich, mellow bass voice. The propping hand came
away from the head and brushed aside the tones now issu-
ing from the chorus hall. "Tilgin will never come up to your
measure."

"Oh, sir, what do I do now my voice is gone? It's all I
had!"

Master Shonagar's surprised contempt startled Piemur.
"All you had? Perhaps, my dear Piemur, but by no means
all you have! Not after five Turns as my apprentice. You
probably know more about vocal production than any
journeyman in the Craft."

"But who would want to learn from me?" Piemur ges-
tured to his slight adolescent frame, his voice cracking dra-




matically. "And how could I teach when I've no voice to
demonstrate?"

"Ah, but the distressing condition of your singing voice
heralds other alterations that will remedy those minor
considerations." Master Shonagar waved aside that argu-
ment, and then regarded Piemur through narrowed eyelids.
"This occasion has not caught me . . ." the thick fingers
tapped against the bulging chest ". . . unprepared." Now
a gusty sigh escaped Master Shonagar's full lips. "You have
been without doubt or contradiction the most troublesome
and ingenious, the laziest, the most audacious and menda-
cious of the hundreds of apprentices and voice students it
has been my tiresome task to train to some standard. De-
spite yourself, you have achieved some measure of success.
You ought to have achieved even more." Master Shonagar
affected a point. "I find it altogether too perverse, if com-
pletely in character, for you to decide on puberty before
singing Domick's latest choral work. Undoubtedly one of
his best, and written with your abilities in mind. Do not
hang your head in my presence, young man!" The Master's
bellow startled Piemur out of his self-pitiful reflections.
"Young man! Yes, that's the crux. You are becoming a
young man. Young men must have young-manly tasks."

"What?" In the single word, Piemur expressed his disbe-
lief and distress.

"That, my young man, is for the Harper to tell you!"
Master Shonagar's thick forefinger pointed first at Piemur
and then swung toward the front of the building, indicat-
ing Master Robinton's window.

Piemur did not dare permit the hope that began to re-
vive in him to blossom. Yet, Master Shonagar wouldn't lie
for any reason, certainly not to give him false hope.

Then they both winced as Tilgin erred in his sight read-
ing. Instinctively glancing at his Master, Piemur saw the
pained expression on Master Shonagar's face.

"Were I you, young Piemur, I'd stay out of Domick's
sight as much as possible."

Despite his depression, Piemur grinned, wryly aware that
the brilliant Composition Master might well decide that
Piemur had elected to thwart his musical ambition in this
untimely voice change,

Master Shonagar sighed heavily. "I do wish you'd have

waited a trifle longer, Piemur." His groan was wistful as
well as resigned. "Tilgin is going to require much coaching
to perform creditably. Now, don't you repeat that, young
Piemur!" The thick forefinger pointed unwaveringly at
Piemur, who affected innocent shock that such an admo-
nition might be needed. "Away with you!"

Obediently, Piemur turned, but he'd gone no more than
a few paces to the door when a second shock stopped him.
He whirled toward the Voice Master.

"You mean, just now, sir, don't you?"

" 'Just now, sir?' Of course, I mean now, not this after-
noon or tomorrow, but now."

"Now . . . and always?" asked Piemur uncertainly. If
he could no longer sing, Master Shonagar would take on
another special apprentice to perform those personal and
private duties for him that Piemur had been undertaking
in the past Turns. Not only was Piemur reluctant to lose
the privilege of being Master Shonagar's special lad, he
honestly didn't wish to end the very rewarding association
with the Master. He liked Shonagar, and those services he
had performed for his Master had stemmed from that lik-
ing rather than a sense of duty. He had enjoyed above all
the droll humor and florid speech of his Master, of being
teased for his bold behavior and called to task by a man he
had never managed to deceive for an instant with any of
his strategems or ploys.

"Now, yes," and there was a rumble of regret in Shona-
gar's expressive voice that eased Piemur's sense of loss, "but
assuredly not always," and the Master's tone was brisker
with only a hint of resigned irritation that he was not
going to be forever rid of this small nuisance. "How can
we escape each other, immured as we are in the Harper
Hall?"

Though Piemur knew perfectly well that Master Shona-
gar rarely left his hall, he was obscurely reassured. He
made a half turn and then came slowly back.

"This afternoon, you'll need some errands done?"

"You may not be available," said Master Shonagar, his
face expressionless, his voice almost as neutral.

"But, sir, who will come to you?" and again, Piemur's
voice broke. "You know you're always busy after the mid-
day meal . . ."




"If you mean," and Shonagar spoke with real amusement
crinkling his eye folds, "do I plan to appoint Tilgin to the
vacancy? Sssssh! I shall, of course, have to devote a great
deal of time to improving his voice and musicality, but to
have him lurking about on tap . . ." The thick fingers
•wiggled with distaste. "Away with you. The choice of
your successor requires considerable thought. Not, mind
you, that there are not hundreds of likely lads who would
undoubtedly suit my small requirements to perfection . . ."

Piemur caught his breath in hurt and then saw the
twitch of Master Shonagar's expressive brows and realized
that this moment was no easier on the older man.

"Undoubtedly . . ." Piemur tried to turn away on that
light note but found he could not, wishing that Master
Shonagar might just this once . . .

"Go, my son. You will ever know where to find me,
should the need arise."

This time the dismissal was final because the Master
slanted his head against his fist and closed his eyes, sham-
ming weariness.

Quickly Piemur walked to the entrance, blinking at the
bright sunlight after the darker hall. He paused on the bot-
tom step, reluctant to take the final one that severed his
association with Master Shonagar. There was a sudden hard
lump in his throat that had nothing to do with his voice
change. He swallowed, but the sensation of constriction re-
mained. He rubbed at his eyes with knuckles that came
away moist and stood, fists clenched at his thighs, trying
not to blubber.

Master Robinton had something to tell him about new
duties? So his voice change had been discussed by the Mas-
ters. To be sure, he wouldn't have been callously thrown
out of the Harper Hall and sent in some obscure disgrace
back to his herdsman father and the dreary life of a beast
farmer simply because he no longer had his soprano voice.
No, that wouldn't be his fate, despite the fact that singing
was his one undeniable harper skill. As Talmor said of his
gitar and harp playing, he could accompany so long as his
playing was drowned out by loud singing or other instru-
ments. The drums and pipes he made under Master's Jer-
int's guidance were only passable and never got stamped
for sale at Gathers. He copied scores accurately enough

when he put his mind to it, but he always found so many
more interesting things to do than spending hours cramp-
ing his fingers, to renew Records someone else could do
more neatly and in half the time. Yet, when pushed to it,
Piemur didn't actually mind scribing, if he were allowed
to add his own embellishments. Which he wasn't. Not with
Master Arnor looking over his shoulder and muttering
about wasted ink and hide.

Piemur sighed deeply. The only thing he was really
adept at was singing, and that was no longer possible. For-
ever? No, not forever! He spread his fingers in rejection of
that prospect and then closed them into tighter fists. He'd
be able to sing all right: he'd learned too much from Mas-
ter Shonagar about voice production and phrasing and in-
terpretation, but he might not have a voice as an adult.
And he wasn't going to sing unless he did! He had his
reputation. Better if he never opened his mouth to sing an-
other note. . . .

Tilgin flubbed another phrase. Piemur grinned, listening
to Tilgin repeating the phrase correctly. They'd miss Pie-
mur all right! He could sight-read any score, even one of
Domick's, without missing a beat or an awkward interval,
or those florid embellishments Domick insisted on writing
for the treble parts. Yes, they'd miss Piemur in the chorus!

That knowledge fortified him, and he took the final
step onto the flagstones of the court. Clipping his thumbs
over his belt, he began to saunter toward the main entrance
of the Harper Hall. Not, he reminded himself, that a lowly
apprentice who has just lost his privileged position, should
saunter when sent to the Masterharper of Pern. Piemur
squinted into the sunlight at the fire lizards on the roof
opposite. He didn't spot Master Robinton's bronze fire liz-
ard, Zair, among those sunning themselves with Menolly's
nine. So the Masterharper wasn't with the day as yet. Come
to think of it, Piemur reflected, he'd heard the clear bari-
tone voice of the Harper in the Court late last night and
the noise of a dragon landing and departing. These days
the Harper spent more time away from the Hall than in it.

"Piemur?"

Startled, he glanced up and saw Menolly standing on the
top step of the Main Hall. She'd spoken quietly, and when

he peered at her, he knew that she knew what had hap-
pened to him.

"It was rather audible," she said, again in that gentle
tone, which both irritated and appeased Piemur. Menolly,
of all within the Harper Hall, would sympathize with him
most acutely. She knew what it was to be without the abil-
ity to make music. "Is that Tilgin singing?"

"Yes, and it's all my fault," Piemur said.

"All your fault?" Menolly stared at him in surprised
amusement.

"Why did I have to pick now to break my voice?"

"Why indeed? I'm sure you did it only to annoy Dom-
ick!" Menolly grinned broadly at him, for they both had
experience with Domick's whimsical temper.

Piemur had reached the top step and experienced another
shock on this morning of surprises: he could almost look
Menolly squarely in the eye, and she was tall for a girl! She
reached out and ruffled his hair, laughing as he indig-
nantly swatted her hand away.

"C'mon, Master Robinton wants to see you."

"Why? .What'm I going to be doing now? D'you
know?"

"Not for me to tell you, scamp," she said, striding on
her long legs across the hall and forcing him to a jog pace
to keep beside her.

"Menolly, that's not fair!"

"Ha!" She was pleased by his discomfiture. "You've not
long to wait.-I will tell you this: Domick may not be
pleased that your voice changed, but the Master was."

"Aw, Menolly, one little hint? Please? You know you
owe me a favor or two!"

"I do?" Menolly savored her advantage.

"You do. And you know it. You could pay me back
right now!" Piemur was irritated. Why did she have to
pick now to be difficult?

"Why waste a favor when a little patience on your part
will bring the answer?" They had reached the second level
and were striding down the corridor toward the Harper's
quarters. "You'd better learn patience, too, my friend!"

Piemur halted in disgust.

"Oh, c'mon Piemur," she said, with a broad swing of her
arm. "You're not a little 'un anymore to wheedle news out

of me. And wasn't it you who warned me that you don't
keep a Master waiting?"

"I've had enough surprises today," he said sourly, but he
closed the distance between them just as she tapped politely
on the door.

The Masterharper of Pem, his silvering hair glinting in the
sun streaming in his windows, was seated at the worktable,
a tray before him, the steam of hot klah rising unnoticed as
he offered pieces of meat to the fire lizard clinging to his
left forearm.

"Glutton! Greedy mawl Don't claw me, that's bare skin,
not padding! I'm feeding you as fast as I can! Zair! Behave
yourself! I'm perishing for a taste of my klah, but I'm
feeding you first. Good morning, Piemur. You're adept at
feeding fire lizards. Pop sustenance into Zair's mouth so I
can get some in mine!" The Harper shot a look of desper-
ate entreaty to Piemur.

He whipped around the long worktable and, grabbing
up several chunks of meat, attracted Zair's gaze.

"Ah, that's more the thing!" exclaimed Master Robinton
after he'd had a long gulp of his klah.

Absorbed in his task, Piemur wasn't at first aware of the
Harper's scrutiny, for the man was applying himself to his
own food with his free right hand. Then Piemur saw the
keen eyes on him, lids narrowed as if weighty from sleep.
He could tell nothing from the Harper's expression, for the
long face was quiescent, slightly puffy about the eyes from
sleep, the grooves from the comers of the mobile mouth
pulled down with age and accumulated fatigue rather than
displeasure.

"I shall miss your young voice," said the Harper with a
gentle emphasis on "young." "But, while we're waiting for
you to settle into an adult placement, I've asked Shonagar
to release you to me. I've a suspicion that you won't mind
too much"—and a smile twitched the Harper's lips—
"doing the odd job for me and Menolly and my good Se-
bell."

"Menolly and Sebell?" Piemur gawked.

"I'm not sure I care for that emphasis," said Menolly in
a mock growl, subsiding as the Harper threw her a quieting
glance.




"I'd be your apprentice?" Piemur asked the Harper,
holding his breath for the answer.

"Indeed, you'd have to be my apprentice at that," said
Master Robinton, his voice and face turning droll.

"Oh, sir!" Piemur was stunned at such good fortune.

Zair squawked petulantly in the little silence, for Piemur
had paused in his feeding.

"Sorry, Zair," and Piemur hastily resumed the task.

"However," and the Harper cleared his throat while Pie-
mur wondered what disadvantage to this envious status
was about to be disclosed (there had to be one, he knew),
"you will have to improve your skill in scribing—"

"We must be able to read what you write," said Men-
oily, sternly.

"—learn to send and receive message drum accurately
and rapidly . . ." He looked at Menolly. "I know that
Master Fandarel is very keen to have his new message-
sender installed in every hall and craft, but it's going to
take far too long to be useful to me. Then, too, there are
some messages that should remain privy to the Craft!" He
paused, staring long at Piemur. "You were bred on a run-
ner beast hold, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir. And I can ride any runner anywhere!"

Menolly's expression indicated disbelief.

"I can, too."

"You'll have ample chance to prove it, I fear," said the
Harper, smiling at his new apprentice's stout claim. "What
you will also have to prove, young Piemur, is your discre-
tion." Now the Harper was in solemn earnest, and with
equal solemnity, Piemur nodded assurance. "Menolly tells
me that despite your incorrigibility on many other counts,
you're not given to indiscriminate babbling. Rather," and
the Harper held up his hand as Piemur opened his mouth to
reassure him, "that you keep close about incidental infor-
mation until you can use it to your benefit."

"Me, sir?'

Master Robinton smiled at his wide-eyed innocent ex-
pression. "You, sir, young Piemur. Although it does strike
me that you've exactly the sort of guile—" He broke off,
then continued more briskly, leaving unsaid words to tan-
talize Piemur. "We'll see how you get on. I fear you may




find your new role not as exciting as you think, but you
will be serving your Craft, and me, very well indeed."

If he couldn't sing for a while, thought Piemur, being
the Master's apprentice was the next best thing. Wait'11 he
told Bonz and Timiny; -wouldn't they just choke!

"Ever sailed?" asked Menolly -with such a piercing look
that Piemur wondered if she'd read his thoughts.

"Sailed? In a boat?"

"That's the general method," she said. "With my luck
you'll be a seasicker."

"You mean, I might get to the Southern Continent,
too?" asked Piemur, having rapidly added up assorted
pieces of information and come to a conclusion; all too
hastily spoken, he realized belatedly.

The Harper lost all semblance of lassitude and sat bolt
upright in his chair, causing his fire lizard to protest vehe-
mently.

Menolly burst out laughing.

"I told you. Master," she said, throwing up her hands.

"And what makes you mention the Southern Conti-
nent?" asked the Harper.

Piemur was rather sorry now that he had.

"Well, sir, nothing special," he said, wondering himself.
"Just things like Sebell being gone for a couple of seven-
days midwinter and coming back with a tanned face. Only
I'd known he'd not been in Nerat or Southern Boll or Ista.
There's been talk, too, at the Gathers that even if dragon-
riders from the north aren't supposed to go south, some of
the Oldtuners have been seen here in the north. Now, if I
was F'lar, I'd sort of wonder what those Oldtimers were
doing north. And I'd try to keep them south, where
they're supposed to be. And there're all these holdless men,
looking for someplace to live, and no one seems to know
how-big the Southern Continent is and if ..." Piemur
trailed 06, daunted by the keen scrutiny of the Master
Harper.

"And if . . . ?" Master Robinton urged him to con-
tinue.

"Well, I've had to copy that map P'nor made of the
Southern Hold and Weyr, and it's small. No bigger'n
Crom or Nobol, but I've heard from weyrfolk at High

13

Reaches who were in the south before F'lar exiled the worst
of the Oldtimers, and they said they were sure the South-
ern Continent must be pretty big," Piemur gestured
broadly.

"And . . . ?" The Harper's encouragement was firm.

"Well, sir, if it were me, I'd want to know, 'cause sure
as eggs hatch, there's going to be trouble with those Old-
timers south"—he jerked his thumb in that direction— "and
trouble with the holdless men in the north," he turned his
thumb back. "So when Menolly talks about sailing, I know
how Sebell got south without being taken by a dragon.
Which Benden Weyr wouldn't permit 'cause they promised
that northern dragons wouldn't go south, and I don't
think Sebell could swim that far. If he can swim."

Master Robinton began to laugh, a soft chuckle, and he
slowly swung his head from side to side.

"I wonder how many more people have put the same
pieces together, Menolly?" he asked, frowning. When his
journeywoman shrugged, he added to Piemur. "You've
kept such notions to yourself, young man?"

Piemur gave a snort, realized he must be more circum-
spect with the Master of his Craft and said quickly, "Who
pays any attention to what apprentices think or say?"

"Have you mentioned these notions to anyone?" The
Harper was insistent.

"Of course not, sir." Piemur tried to keep indignation
from his tone. "It's Benden's business, or Hold business, or
Harper business. Not mine."

"A chance spoken word, even by an apprentice, can sift
through a man's thoughts till he forgets the source and
remembers the intent. And repeats it inadvisedly."

"I know my loyalty to my Crafthall, Master Robinton,"
said Piemur.

"I'm sure of your loyalty," the Harper said, nodding his
head slowly, his eyes still holding Piemur's. "I want to be
certain of your discretion."

"Menolly'll tell you; I'm not a babblemouth." He
looked at Menolly for her support.

"Not normally, I'm sure. But you might be tempted to
speak when taunted by others."

"Me, sir?" Piemur's imagination was genuine. "Not me,
sir! I may be small, but I'm not stupid."




"No, one could not accuse you of that, my young
friend, but as you've already pointed out, we are living in
an uncertain Turn. I think ..."

The Harper broke off, staring out the window, frown-
ing absently. Abruptly he made a decision and regarded
Piemur for a long moment. "Menolly told me you were
quick-witted. Let's see if you comprehend the reason be-
hind this: you will not be known as -my apprentice . . ."
and Master Robinton smiled understandingly at Piemur's
sharp intake of breath. Then he nodded with approval as
Piemur promptly schooled his expression to polite accep-
tance. "You will be told off as apprentice to the Drummas-
ter, Olodkey, who will know that you are under my orders
as well. Yes"—and the crispness of Master Robinton's tone
told Piemur that he was pleased by this solution, and Pie-
mur had better be—"that will serve. The drummers must,
of course, keep irregular hours. No one would note your
absences or think anything of your taking messages."

Master Robinton put his hand on Piemur's shoulder and
gave him a little shake, smiling kindly.

"No one will miss your boyish treble more than I, lad,
except possibly Domick, but here in the Harper Hall, some
of us listen to other tunes and drum a different beat." He
gave Piemur another shake, then cuffed him on the shoul-
der encouragingly. "I don't want you to stop listening,
Piemur, not if you can take isolated facts and put them
together as well as you just did. But I also want you to
notice the way things are said, the tone and inflection, the
emphasis."

Piemur mustered a grin. "What a harper hears is for the
Harper's ears, sir?"

Master Robinton laughed. "Good lad! Now, take this
tray back to Silvina and ask her to fit you out with wher-
hide. A drummer has to be at his post in all weathers!"

"You don't need wherhide on the drunaheight!" ex-
claimed Piemur. Then he grinned as he cocked his head at
his master. "You do need it if you're riding a dragonback,
though."

"I told you he was quick," said Menolly, grinning at the
Harper's consternation.

"Scamp! Rascal! Impertinent snip!" cried the Harper,
dismissing him with a vigorous wave of his hand that set

15

Zair squawking. "Do as you're told and keep your notions
to yourself!"

"Then I will be riding dragons!" said Piemur, and when
he saw Master Robinton rise half out of his chair, he
quickly slipped out of the room.

"What did I tell you, Master," said Menolly, laughing.
"He's quick enough to be very useful."

Though the glint of amusement remained in his eyes, the
Harper stared thoughtfully at the closed door, his fingers
tapping idly on his chair arm.

"Quick yes, but a shade young . . ."

"Young? Piemur? He was never young, that one. Don't
let that innocent, wide-eyed stare of his fool you. Besides,
he'd got fourteen Turns, almost as old as I was when I left
Half-Circle Sea Hold to live in the Dragon Stones' cave
with my fire lizards. And what else can be done with all
his energy and mischief? He's simply not suited for any
other section of this Craft. Master Shonagar was the only
person who had half a chance of keeping him out of trou-
ble. Old Amor couldn't, nor Jerint. It's got to be Olodkey
and the drums."

"I could almost see the merit of the Oldtimers' atti-
tudes," said the Harper on the end of a heavy sigh.

"Sir?" Menolly stared at him, startled as much by the
abrupt change of subject as the sense of what he said.

"I wish we hadn't changed so in this last long Interval."

"But, sir, you've been supporting all the changes F'lar
and Lessa have advocated. And Benden's been right to
make those changes. They're united Hall and Hold behind
the "weyrs. Furthermore," and Menolly took a deep breath,
"Sebell told me not so long ago that before this Pass of the
Red Star began, harpers were nearly as discredited as dragon
riders. You've made this Hall into the most prestigious
craft on Pern. Everyone respects Masterharper Robinton.
Even Piemur," she added with a laugh trembling in her
voice as she struggled to relieve her master's melancholy.

"Ah, now, there's the real accomplishment!"

"Indeed it is," she said, ignoring his facetiousness. "For
he's very hard to impress, I assure you. Believe me, too,
that he won't be in the least distressed to do for you
what he does naturally for himself. He's always heard the
gossip at Gathers and told me, knowing I'd tell you. 'What

16

a harper hears is for the Harper's ears.'" She laughed to
find Piemur's saucy quip so applicable.

"It was easier during the Interval. . . ." Robinton said,
with another long sigh. Zair, who'd been cleaning himself,
chirped in a querying way, tilting his head and peering
with earnestly whirling eyes at his friend. The Harper
smiled as he stroked the little creature. "Boring, too, to be
completely candid. Still, it won't be that long an assign-
ment for Piemur, will it? His voice ought to settle within
the Turn, and he can resume his place as a soloist. If his
adult voice is half as good as his treble, he'll be a better
singer than Tagetarl."

Seeing that that prospect cheered her Master, Menolly

smiled.

"The dream message was from Ista Hold. Sebell's on his
way back with those herbal medicines Master Oldive want-
ed. He'll be at Fort Sea Hold by late afternoon tomorrow

if the wind holds."

"Indeed? I'll be very interested to hear what our good

Sebell has for his Harper's ears."

17




Chapter 2

The tray Piemur was carrying was all that restrained him
from jumping into the air and kicking his heels together in
his jubilation. Working for Master Robinton, no matter
how indirectly, and being apprenticed to Master Olodkey,
was no loss of prestige and much more than he had dared
contemplate. Not, Piemur admitted to himself, that he'd
given much thought to his future.

Of course, one never saw much of Master Olodkey about
the Hall. He kept to the drum height, a lean, slightly
stooped figure of a man with a big head and coarse bris-
tling brown hair that seemed to stand out from his skull to
give him the appearance, the irreverent said, of one of his
own bass drumsticks. Others insisted that he was deaf
from years of pounding the great message-drums for the
Harper Hall. Except for drumbeats, they hastily amended,
which he didn't need to hear: he felt the vibrations in the
air.

Piemur considered his new apprenticeship and found it
good: there were only four other apprentices, seniors all,
and five journeymen serving Master Olodkey. Granted
that Piemur had been Master Shonagar's special, but Master
Shonagar was responsible for every singer in the Hall,
whereas Master Olodkey rarely had more than ten harpers
looking to him. Piemur again was in a select group. Even
more select if he'd been permitted to announce the full
truth.

He skittered down the steps, balancing the tray deftly.
Maybe, once he'd proved to the Masterharper that he could
keep his mouth sealed . . . And Master Robinton was
wrong to think that any could extract information from
Piemur that Piemur didn't care to divulge. Nothing
pleased Piemur more than "knowing." He didn't necessar-
ily have to show off to other people how much he "knew."

18

The fact that he, Piemur, an insignificant herdsman's son
from Crom, knew, was sufficient.

He wished he hadn't been so brash, mentioning the
Southern Continent, but the reactions had proved that his
guess was accurate. They had been down to the south: at
least Sebell had, and probably Menolly. If they'd gone,
then the Harper needn't risk the trip with such eyes and
ears to do the hard work.

Piemur hadn't had much to do with the Oldtimers be-
fore F'lar had ordered them exiled to the Southern Conti-
nent. For this he was fervently grateful as he'd heard
enough about their arrogance and greed. But if he, Piemur,
had been exiled, he wouldn't have just stayed put. He
couldn't understand why the Oldtimers had quietly ac-
cepted their humiliating dismissal. Piemur calculated that
some two hundred and forty-eight Oldtimers and their
women had gone to the Southern Continent, including the
two dissatisfied Weyrleaders, T'ron of Port and T'kul of
the High Reaches. Seventeen Oldtimers had returned
north, accepting Benden as their leader or so Piemur had
heard. Most of the exiled men and dragons had been well
on in Turns, so they were no real loss to the dragon
strength of Pern. Old age and sickness had claimed almost
forty dragons in the first Turn, and almost as many had
gone between this Turn. Somehow that struck Piemur as
being rather careless of dragons, even Oldtimer ones.

He stopped abruptly, aware of a tantalizing aroma waft-
ing from the kitchens. Bubbly berry pies? And just when
he needed a real treat! His mouth began to water in antici-
pation. The pies must be just out of the bake oven or surely
he would have discerned that fragrance before.

He heard Silvina's voice rising above the working noises
and grimaced. He could've gotten a few pies out of Abuna
with no trouble. But Silvina wasn't often taken in by his
starts and schemes. Still . . .

He let his shoulders sag, dropped his head and began to
shuffle down the last few steps into the kitchen level.

"Piemur? What are you doing here at this hour? "Why do
you have the Harper's tray? You should be rehearsing . . ."
Silvina took the tray from his hands and stared at him
accusingly.

19




'You didn't hear?" Piemur asked in a low, dejected

:e.

voice.

"Hear? Hear -what? How could anyone hear anything in
this babble? I'll . . ." She slipped the tray onto the nearest
work surface and, putting her finger under his chin,
forced his head up.

Piemur was rather pleased to be able to squeeze moisture
from the corners of his eyes. He narrowed them quickly
for Silvina wasn't easily fooled. Though, he told himself
hastily, he was very sorry he wouldn't be singing Domick's
music. And he was sorrier that Tilgin was!

"Your voice? Your voice is changing?"

Piemur heard the regret and dismay in Silvina's hushed
tone. It occurred to him that women's voices never did
change, and that she couldn't possibly imagine his feelings
of total loss and crushing disappointment. More tears fol-
lowed the first.

"There, lad. The world's not lost. In a half-Turn or less
your range'll settle again."

"Master Domick's music was just right for me . . ."
Piemur did not need to fake the ragged tones.

"To be sure, since he wrote it with you in mind, scamp.
Well, wouldn't you know? Though I can't for the life of
me believe you could contrive to change your voice to spite
Domick—"

"Spite Master Domick?" Piemur widened his eyes with
indignation. "I wouldn't do such a thing, Silvina."

"Only because you couldn't, rascal. I know how you
hate singing female parts." Her voice was acerbic, but her
hand under his chin was gentle. She took a clean corner of
her apron and blotted the tears on his cheeks. "As luck
would have it, I seem to be prepared with an easement for
your tragedy." She propelled him before her, motioning to-
ward the trays of cooling pies. Piemur rapidly wondered if
he ought to dissemble. "You can have two, one for each
hand, and then away with you! Have you seen Master
Shonagar yet? Watch those pies! They're just out of the
oven."

"Hmmmm," he replied, biting into the first pie despite
her admonition. "It's the only way to eat 'em," he mu^n-
bled through a mouthful so hot that he had to suck in cool

20

air to ease the burning of his gums. "But . . . I'm to get

wherhide clothes."

"You? In wherhide? Why would you need wherhide?"
She frowned suspiciously at him now.

"I'm to study drum with Master Olodkey, and Menolly
asked me could I ride runners, and Master Robinton said I
was to ask you for wherhide."

"All three of them in it? Hmmm. And you'd be appren-
ticed to Master Olodkey?" Silvina considered the matter
and then eyed him shrewdly. He wondered should he tell
Menolly that Silvina hadn't been taken in by their strate-
gem of making him a drummer. "Well, I suppose you'll be
kept out of mischief. Though I, for one, doubt it's possible.
Come on then. I do have a wherhide jacket that might
fit." She cast him a calculating look as they moved toward
the storage section of the kitchen level. "Let's hope it'll fit
for a while because sure as eggs hatch, I shan't be able to
pass it on to anyone else the way you mangle your clothes."

Piemur loved the storerooms, redolent with the smell of
well-cured hides and the eye-smarting acridity of newly
dyed fabrics. He liked the glowing colors of the cloth
bales, the jumble of boots, belts, packs hanging from hooks
about the walls, the boxes with their odd treasures. Silvina
rapped his knuckles with her keys several times for opening
lids to investigate.

The jacket fit, the stiff new leather bucking against his
thighs as he pranced about, swinging his arms to make the
shoulders settle. It was long in the body, but Silvina was
pleased: he'd need the length. Fitting him with new boots
showed her how ragged his trousers were, so she found him
two new pairs, one in harper blue and the other in a deep
gray leather. Two shirts with sleeves too long, but which
no doubt would fit him perfectly by midwinter, a hat to
keep his ears warm and his eyes shaded, and heavy riding
gloves with down-lined fingers.

He left the stores, his arms piled high with new clothes,
boots dangling from their laces over his shoulder and
bumping him front and back, his ears ringing with Silvi-
na's promise of dire things happening to him if he snagged,
tore, or scuffed his new finery before he'd had it on his
back a sevenday.

21

He happily employed the rest of the morning by dressing
in his new gear, examining himself from all angles in the
one mirrored surface of the apprentice dormitory.

He heard the burst of shouts as the chorus was released
and peered cautiously over the sill. Most of the boys and
young men swarmed across the Court to the Hall. But
Master Domick, music rolled in one fist, strode purpose-
fully toward Master Shonagar's hall. The last to exit was
Tilgin, head bowed, shoulders slumped, weary from what
must have been an exhausing rehearsal. Piemur grinned; he
had warned Tilgin to study the part. One never knew
when Master Domick might call on the understudy. There
was always the chance of a bad throat or a hacking cough
for a soloist. Not that Piemur had ever been sick for per-
formance . . . until this one. Piemur gave a sour note. He
really had wanted to sing Lessa in Domick's ballad. He'd
sort of counted on coming to the Benden Weyrwoman's
notice that way. It was always wise to be known to the two
Benden 'Weyrleaders, and this would have been the perfect
opportunity.

Ah well, there were more ways of skinning a herdbeast
than shaving him with a table-knife.

He folded his new clothing carefully in his bedpress,
giving the fur a smoothing twitch. Then quickly glanced
out the window again. Now, while Master Domick was
busy with Master Shonagar, would be the time for him to
slip into the dining hall. Keep out of sight, and soon
enough he'd be out of Domick's mind. Not that Piemur was
at fault. This time.

A shame really. Lessa's melody was the loveliest Domick
had ever written. It had so suited his range. Once again a
lump pushed up in his throat at the sadness of the lost
opportunity. And probably a Turn before he could try to
sing again. Nor was there a guarantee that he'd have any-
where near as good a singing voice as an adult as he'd had
as a boy. None at all. He'd miss being able to astonish
people with the pure tone he could produce, the marvelous
flexibility, the perfect sense of pitch and timing, not to
mention his particularly acute skill at note-reading.

' His reflections caused him sufficient pangs of regrets so
that, when he drifted past the first group of apprentices in

22

the court, they paused in their play and watched his slow
progress with awed silence.

He trudged up the steps, past apprentices and journey-
men, eyes down, hands flopping at his sides, the picture of
dejection. Scorch it, would he have to pretend to have lost
his appetite? He could smell roast wherry, succulent, and
dripping with juices. And then, berry pies.

However, if he managed his tablemates adroitly ...
Hunger warred with greed, and there was nothing feigned
about his expression of sad reflection when the dining
room began to fill.

Piemur, deep in his plans, was aware of being flanked by
silent boys. But the chubby fist visible on the left was
Brolly's. The stained, dirty, calloused, nail-bitten hand on
the right was Timiny's. His good friends were standing by
him in this moment of loss. He let out a long, draggling
sigh, heard Brolly shift his feet uncomfortably, saw Timiny
extend his hand tentatively to draw it back slowly, uncer-
tain how a gesture of sympathy would be received. Well,
Timiny might just give him both pies, Piemur thought.

Suddenly everyone moved, and a quick glance at the
round table told Piemur that Master Robinton had taken
his place. A flash of blue and gray past his lowered eyes
was probably Menolly moving to take her place at a journey-
man's table.

Ranly and Bon sat directly opposite Piemur, regarding
him with wide and worried eyes. He gave them a sad half-
smile. When the platter of roast wherry slices came to him,
he heaved another sigh and fumbled for a slice. He stared
at it on his plate instead of attacking it immediately. But
then, generally, he'd have taken as many slices as he could
knife onto his plate without raising uproars from his mates.
He did like roast tubers, but restrainedly took only a small
one. He ate slowly so that his stomach would think it was
getting more. A rumbling belly would ruin his ploy for
bubbly pies.

None of his friends spoke, either to him or to each other.
At their end of the table, gloomy silence prevailed. Until
the bubbly pies were served. Piemur maintained his air of
tragic indifference as the first ripple of delighted surprise
sighed down from the kitchen end of the table. He could

23

hear the rise of happy voices, the quick interest of his
friends as they saw the burden of the sweet tray.

"Piemur, it's bubbly pies," said Timiny, pulling at his
sleeve.

"Bubbly pies?" Piemur kept a querulous note in his
voice, as if even bubbly pies had no magic to revive him.

"Yes, bubbly pies," said Brolly, determined to rouse him.

"Your very first favorite, Piemur," said Bonz. "Here,
have one of mine," he added and, with only an infinitesi-
mal show of reluctance, pushed the coveted pie across to
Piemur.

"Oh, bubbly pies," repeated Piemur on the end of a qua-
vering semi-interested sigh and picked up one of the offer-
ings as though he was forcing himself to exhibit interest.

"It's an awfully good bake, Piemur." Ranly bit into his
with exaggerated relish. "Just take a bite, Piemur. You'll
see. Get a bubbly or two inside you, and you'll feel more
like yourself. Imagine! Piemur not wanting all the bubblies
he can eat!" Ranly glanced at the others, urging them to
second him.

Bravely Piemur ate slowly of the first bubbly pie, wish-
ing they were still hot.

"That did taste good," he said with a trifle brighter
tone and was promptly encouraged to eat another.

By the time he had consumed eight because three more
were donated from the other end of the table, Piemur af-
fected to lose the edge of his gloom. After all, ten bubbly
pies when he might only have had two was a good day's
scrounge.

The journeyman rose to deliver announcements and as-
signments. Piemur toyed with the notion of several differ-
ent reactions to the news of his change in status. Shock,
yes! Delight? Well, some because it was an honor, but not
too much, otherwise they might doubt the performance
that had won so many pies.

"Sherris, report to Master Shonagar . . ."

"Sherris?" Surprise, shock, and consternation, totally
unrehearsed or anticipated brought Piemur straight up off
the bench and prompted his neighbors to seize him by the
shoulders and push him down. "Sherris? That little snip,
that wet-eared, wet-bottomed, wet-bedded—"

Timiny clamped his hand firmly over Piemur's mouth,

and the next few announcements were lost to that section
of the apprentice tables. Indignation revitalized Piemur,
but he was no match for the concerted efforts of Timiny
and Brolly, determined that their friend should not suffer
the extra humiliation of a public reprimand for interrupt-
ing the journeyman.

"Did you hear, Piemur?" Bonz was saying, leaning across
the table. "Did you not hear?"

"I heard that Sherris is to be Master . . ." Piemur was
sputtering with rage. There were a few truths Master
Shonagar ought to know about Sherris,

"No, no, about you!"

"Me?" Piemur ceased his struggles, abruptly horrified by
the sudden thought that maybe Master Robinton had
changed his mind, that some further investigation had led
him to believe Piemur was unsuitable, that all the mom-
ing's bright prospect would be wrenched from his grasp.

"You! You're to report to . . ." and Bonz paused to
give additional weight to his final words, "Master Olod-
key!"

"To Master Olodkey?" Relief gave Piemur's reaction
genuine force. Then he looked wildly around for the
Drummaster.

Bonz's elbow suddenly digging into his ribs alerted him,
and there was Dirzan, Master Olodkey's senior journeyman,
staring down at them, fists against his belt, a wary and
disapproving expression on his weathered face.

"So we get saddled with you, eh, Piemur? I'll tell you
this, you watch your step with our Master. Quickest man
in the world with a drumstick, and he doesn't always use
it on the drums!" He eyed Piemur significantly and then,
with a sharp gesture, indicated that Piemur should follow
him.




Chapter 3

The rest of that day was not quite as joyful for Piemur. At
Dirzan's order, he moved his gear from the senior appren-
tice dormitory to the Drummers' quarters, four rooms ad-
jacent to the height, separate from the rest of the Hall.
The apprentices' room was cramped and would be more so
when the spare cot for Piemur was added. The journey-
men's quarters were hardly more spacious, nor Master
Olodkey's, though he had his small room to himself. The
largest room was both for the instruction and living. Be-
yond, separated by a small hallway, was the drum room,
with the great metal message-drums shining in the after-
noon sun. There were several stools for the watchdrummer,
a small workable to write down the messages, and a press,
which became the bane of Piemur's mornings. It contained
the polish and cloths required to keep that eye-blinding
shine on the drums. Dirzan took evident relish in telling
Piemur that, by custom, the newest apprentice was re-
quired to maintain their brilliance.

The drumheights were always manned save for the
"dead" time, four hours in the depth of night, when the
eastern half of the continent was still sleeping and the
western half just retiring. Piemur wanted to know what
happened if an emergency occurred in the dead time and
was crisply informed that most drummers were so attuned
to an incoming message that even in the shielded quarters
the vibrations had been known to alert them.

As part of his apprentice training, Piemur had dutifully
learned the identifying beats of each of the major holds
and  crafthalls,   and  the  emergency  signals,  like
"threadfall,"  "fire,"  "death," "answer,"  "question,"
"help," "affirmative," "negative," and a few useful
phrases. When Dirzan first showed him the mass of drum
messages that he would be expected to memorize and per-

26

form, he began to wish fervently that his voice would set-
tle before winter came. Dirzan ruthlessly loaded him down
with a column of frequently used beat measures to learn by
the next day, telling him to practice quietly, using sticks
on the practice block, and left him.

In the morning, writing under Dirzan's full attention
Piemur struggled through the lesson. He almost cried out
with relief when Menolly appeared. She ignored him.

"I need a messenger. Can I steal Piemur?"

"Certainly," Dirzan said without surprise, since that
task was also a function of drum apprentices. "He can
practice his lesson on his way, I expect. I expect he'd bet-
ter."

Piemur groaned to himself at this partial reprieve, but
kept a carefully contrite expression on his face for Dirzan's
benefit.

"Did you get riding gear yesterday from Silvina?" Men-
oily asked him, her face unrevealing. "Get it on," she said
when he nodded, gesturing him to be quick about chang-
ing.

She was laughing with Dirzan when he reappeared, but
broke off her conversation, motioning Piemur to follow
her. She took the steps from the drumheights at a clip.

"You said you'd ridden runners?" she asked.

"Sure. I'm herder bred, you know." He was a bit
miffed.

"That doesn't necessarily mean that you've ridden run-
ners."

'"Well, I have."

"You'll have a chance to prove it," she said, awarding
him a curious smile.

Piemur stared hard at her profile as they made their way
out of the arch entrance and across the broad Gather
meadow in front of the Harper Hall. To their left towered
the cliff that housed Port Hold, and the rows of cots that
huddled in the bosom of the sturdy precipice. On the fire
heights of the Hold, the brown dragon stood, looking more
massive silhouetted against the bright sky, one wing ex-
tended, which his rider was grooming.

Piemur felt a surge of reverence for dragons and their
riders, reinforced by the sight of Beauty, Menolly's queen
fire lizard, alighting on her friend's padded shoulder,

27




while the rest of Menolly's fair cavorted in the air above
them.

Her head raised, Menolly smiled at her playful friends
and told them they -were going for a ride. Did they care to
come along? Chirruping and excited aerial displays greeted
her question, and Piemur watched, as ever envious, while
Beauty stroked Menolly's cheek with her wedge-shaped
head and crooned into her ear, the jewel-faceted eyes
bright blue with pleasure. Grimly, Piemur forebode to ask
the questions that seethed in his mind as they walked in
silence toward the great caverns carved into the Fort cliff
to house the herdbeasts, wherry flocks and runners. Inside
the cavern, the head stockman approached with a smile for
Menolly. Her fire lizards whirled into the cavern and
sought perches on the curious beams that supported the
ceiling, beams that had been fashioned by long-lost skill of
the ancients. No one even knew from what substance they
had been contrived.

"Off again, Menolly?"

"Again," she said with a slight grimace. "Banak, have
you gear for a beast for Piemur, too? As easy for me to
have the second runner ridden as led."

"A" course," and the man led the way to the enclosure
where the backpads and headgear were hung on racks.
After a close look at Piemur, he selected pad and gear,
handed Menolly hers. They followed him down the aisle of
open-ended stalls. "Your usual is third down, Menolly."

"See if Piemur remembers how to go on," she said to
Banak.

The man smiled and handed Piemur the gear. With a
degree of assurance he didn't feel, Piemur made the cluck-
ing sound it was wise to use to announce human presence
to a runner beast. They weren't intelligent creatures, re-
sponding to a narrow set of noises and nudges, but, within
that limited scope, quite useful. They weren't even pretty,
being thin necked, heavy headed, long backed, lean bodied,
with spindly legs. Their hide was covered in a coarse fur
and ranged in color from a dirty white to a dark brown.
They were more graceful than herdbeasts but by no stretch
of the imagination as beautiful as dragons or fire lizards.

The creature Piemur was to ride was a dirty brown. He
threw the mouth rope over its neck, and by pinching its

28

nose holes, forced it to open its mouth to receive the metal
mouthpiece. Quickly grabbing its ear, Piemur managed to
get the headstall in place. It snorted as if mildly surprised.
Not half as surprised as Piemur that he'd remembered that
little trick. He heard Banak grunt. He slapped the pad in
place and tightened the midstrap, wondering if this thing
would give him any trouble once he was astride it.

Untying its halter, he backed it out and found Menolly
as the aisle, holding her larger beast. She examined the gear

on his.

"Oh, he did it right," said Banak, nodding approval and
waving them to go on as he turned to the rear of the cav-
ern on his own affairs.

It had been a long time since Piemur had been bestride a
runner. Fortunately, this creature was docile, and its pac-
ing stride smooth as Menolly set off briskly down the east-
ern roadway.

There was a knack of easing yourself on a runner's pad.
Piemur found himself almost unconsciously assuming the
position; sitting on one buttock, extending his left leg as
far as the toe-hold strap would go, while cocking the knee
of his right leg firmly against the runner's side. A rider
would change sides often in trip. For a girl seahold bred,
Menolly rode with the ease of much practice, Piemur

noted.

All the way down to the sea hold, Piemur kept his mouth

shut. He'd be scorched if he'd ask her why they were
going there. He doubted that the sole purpose of this
excursion was to see if he could ride runners or keep his
mouth shut. And what had she meant by easier to have a
second runner ridden than led? This reticent, assured Men-
olly on Harper business was quite different from the girl
who let him feed her fire lizards, and a long stride from
his recollections of the shy and self-effacing newcomer to
the Harper Hall three Turns back.

Once they reached Fort Sea Hold, Menolly tossed him
her beast's mouth rope, told him to take them to the hold's
beastmaster, ease the backpads, water them and see if they
could have some feed. As Piemur led the creatures away, he
noticed that she went to the harbor wall, shading one hand
as she peered at the eastern horizon. Why was she waiting

29




for a ship? Or had that something to do with the drum
message from Ista Hold the other morning?

The beastmaster greeted him cheerfully enough and
helped him attend the runners.

"You'll be likely heading back to the Hall as soon as the
ship docks," said the man. "I'll pad up Sebell's beast, so
he's ready. Soon's we got these comfortable, you just pop
into my hold there, and my woman'll fix you a bite to eat.
Boy your age could always do with a bit, I'm sure. One
thing about seaholding, you've always the extra to feed,
even in Threadfall."

His hospitality included Menolly when she came in;

after Piemur too had seen the speck far out on the sea. He
knew that he'd have a chance to rest his weary bones as
well as exercise his jaw.

Sebell had a runner stabled here, huh? Sebell borne by a
westbound ship. 'Which suggested that Sebell had also
sailed from this seahold. Piemur tried to remember how
long 'it had been since he'd seen Sebell about the Hall, and
couldn't.

Fort Sea Hold possessed a natural deep harbor so that the
incoming ship sailed right up to the stone-lined side. Sea-
men on shore as well as on the ship neatly tied her thick
lines to the bollards on the wall. Sebell was not immedi-
ately visible, though as Menolly's fire lizards did a wel-
coming display above the ship's rigging, the westering sun
glinted off two golden bodies, Sebell's queen, Kimi, as well
as Menolly's Beauty. Piemur didn't spot Sebell in the bustle
of people unloading the ship until suddenly he appeared
right in front of them, heavy bags draped across his shoul-
ders and arms. A seaman carefully laid two more filled
sacks at his feet. Enough to load down a runner beast, all
right.

"Good trip, Sebell?" asked Menolly, picking up one of
the sacks and slinging it with a deft twist of her wrist to
her back. "Give Piemur at least one yoke of those," she
added, and Piemur sprang quickly to relieve Sebell of some
of his burden, fingering the bulges to see if he could iden-
tify the contents. "And don't maul it, Piemur. The herbs
will be crushed soon enoughl"

Herbs?

"Piemur? What're you doing here? Shouldn't you be re-

30

hearsing?" began Sebell. His smile was pleasant and the
whiteness of his teeth stood out against dark tanned skin.

Herbs and a tan? Piemur would bet every mark he had
that Sebell had just returned from the Southern Continent.

"Piemur's voice has broken."

"It has?" There was no doubting Sebell's pleasure at the
news. "And Master Robinton's agreeable?"

Menolly grinned. ""With a slight variation, according to
the wisdom of our good Master!"

"Oh?" Sebell glanced first at Piemur and then back to
Menolly for explanation.

"He's been told off as apprentice to Master Olodkey."

Sebell began to chuckle then. "Shrewd of Master Robin-
ton, very shrewd! Right, Piemur?"

"I guess so."

At such a sour rejoinder, Sebell threw his head back and
laughed, startling his queen who'd been about to land on
his shoulder. She flew about his head, scolding, joined by
Beauty and the two bronzes. Sebell threw an arm across
Piemur's shoulders, telling him to cheer up, and draped his
other arm about Menolly. Then he guided them toward the
holdstables.

There was a look on Sebell's face that suggested to Pie-
mur that the companionable arm about his shoulders had
been an excuse for the one about Menolly's. The observa-
tion cheered Piemur for he knew something no other ap-
prentice did. Maybe not even Master Robinton. Or did he?

Variations on that notion contented Piemur on the ini-
tial leg of their hallward trip. The last three hours were
spent in increasing physical, discomfort. For one thing, he
had sacks strapped front and back of his pad and another
slung over his shoulder. It was difficult to adjust his rear
end and find a spot not already beaten to a pulp by the
runner beast's action. Rather unfair of Menolly, Piemur
thought with some rancor, to include him on an eight-hour
ride his first time on a runner in Turns.

He was immensely relieved that he wasn't expected to
tend the mounts, too, as they handed mouth ropes to
Banak. Then, Piemur wished he'd been able to dismount in
the Harper Hall courtyard, for his stiff and seemingly re-
shaped legs made the short walk from beasthold to Hall an
unexpected torture. Sourly he listened to Menolly and Se-

31




bell chatting as they preceded him. They talked of inconse-
quentialities so that Piemur couldn't even ignore his aches by

concentrating on their comments.

"Well, Piemur," said Menolly as they climbed the steps
to the Hall, "you haven't forgotten how to pace a beast.

Shells, what's the matter with you?"

"It's been five bloody Turns since I've ridden one," he
said, trying to straighten his sorely afflicted back.

"Menolly! That's plain cruel," cried Sebell, trying to
keep a straight face. "Into the hot baths with you, lad,

before you harden in that posture."

Menolly was instantly contrite, with protests of dismay

and apology. Sebell guided him to the bathing room, and
when Menolly brought a tray of hot food for them all, she
served Piemur as he floated in the soothing water. To Pie-
mur's utter embarrassment, Silvina appeared as he was pat-
ting his sore spots dry. She proceeded to slather him with
numbweed salve and, making him lie down, massaged his
back and legs. Just when he thought he'd never move
again, Silvina made him get to his feet. Strangely enough,
he could walk more normally. At least the numbweed
deadened the muscular aches enough for him to make his
own way across the court and up to three flights to the

drumheights.

He slept through three drum messages the next morning,

the fire lizards' feeding and half the chorus rehearsal with
instruments. When he woke, Dirzan gave him time for a
cup of klah and a meatroll, then quizzed him on the drum

measures assigned him the day before.

To Dirzan's amazement, Piemur beat them out time-
perfect. He'd had plenty of hours in which to memorize
them on that runner ride. As a reward, Dirzan gave him

another column of measures to learn.

The numbweed salve had worn oS, and Piemur found
sitting on the stool during his lesson agonizing. He had
rubbed his seat bones raw, a combination of the stiffness
of his new trousers and the riding. This affliction pro-
vided him with an opportunity to visit Master Oldive after
lunch. Although Sebell's sacks were in evidence in Master
Oldive's quarters, even to some herbs piled on the work-
table, Piemur pried no new snippets of information from the

Master Healer. Not even if this had been the first shipment
of such medicines. He did learn that galls hurt more when
treated than when sat on. Then the numbweed took over.
Master Oldive said he was to use a cushion for sitting for a
few days, wear older, softened pants, and ask Silvina for a
conditioner to soften his wherhide.

No sooner had he returned to the drumheights, than he
was sent with a message for Lord Groghe to Fort Hold,
and when he came back, set to stand a listening watch.

He saw Menolly and Sebell the next morning when he
fed his trio of fire lizards but, apart from solicitous in-
quiry about his stiffness, the two harpers were not talka-
tive. The next day Sebell was gone, and Piemur didn't
know when or how. He was able, however, to observe, from
the drumheights, the comings and goings, in and out of
Fort Hold, of riders on runners, of two dragons and an
incredible number of fire lizards. It occurred to him that
while he had been congratulating himself on knowing most
of what went on in the Harper Hall, the drumheights let
him observe the larger world which, up till that day, had
been unremarked by himself.

Several messages came in that afternoon, two from the
north and one from the south. Three went out; one in
answer to Tillek's question from the north; an originating
message to Igen Tanner Hall; and the third to Master Bri-
aret, the Masterherdsman. To tantalize him, all the mes-
sages were too quickly delivered for him to recognize more
than a few phrases. Infuriated to be in a position to know
more and unable to exercise the advantage to the full, Pie-
mur memorized two columns of drum measures. If his zeal
surprised Dirzan, it irritated his fellow apprentices. They
presented him with several all too forceful arguments
against too much application on his part. Piemur had al-
ways relied on being able to outrun any would-be adversar-
ies, but he discovered that there was no place to run to in
the drumheights. While nursing his bruises, he stubbornly
learned off three more columns, though he kept this pri-
vate, tempering his recitations to Dirzan. Discretion, he was
learning, is required on many different levels.

He was not sorry six days later to be told to take a mes-
sage to a minehold situated on an awkward ridge in the

Fort Hold Range. 'With a signed. Harper-sealed tube of
record hide, he mounted the same stolid runner beast
Banak had given him for the previous trip.

Gingerly settling the seat of his now well-softened wher-
hide pants onto the pad, Piemur was relieved to feel no
discomfort from his tail bones as the creature moved off.
The journey should take him two to three hours, Banak
said, as he'd pointed out to him the correct southwestern
track. Three hours was probably correct, Piemur thought as
his efforts to increase the pace of his runner failed. By the
time the wide track had narrowed to a thinner trace,
winding against a stony hillside, with deep gorges on the
outside, Piemur was quite willing to let his runner go at
that steady, careful pace. As he figured it would have
taken the Fort Hold watchdragon only a few moments to
make the trip, and the watchdragon's rider was quite will-
ing to oblige the Masterharper of Pern, he wondered why
he'd been sent. Until he delivered his message tube to the
taciturn mineholder.

"You're from the Harper Hall?" The man scowled at
him dubiously.

"Apprentice to Master Olodkey, the Drummaster!" This
could be some sort of test of his prudence.

"Wouldn't have thought they'd send a boy on this er-
rand," he said with a skeptical grunt.

"I've fourteen Turns, sir," Piemur replied, trying to
deepen his tone without notable success.

"No offense meant, lad."

"None taken." Piemur was pleased that his voice re-
mained steady.

The Miner paused, his gaze drawn upward. Not, Piemur
noticed, in the direction of the sun. When the Miner began
to scowl, Piemur also looked up. Though why the Miner
should register displeasure at the sight of three dragons in
the sky, Piemur couldn't guess. True, Thread had fallen
only three days before, but you'd think dragons would be a
reassuring sight at any time.

"There's feed and water in the shed," said the Miner,
still watching the dragons. He gestured absently over his
left shoulder.

Obediently Piemur started to lead the runner around,
hoping that there would be something for himself as well

34

when he'd tended the beast. Suddenly, the Miner let out a
startled oath and retreated into his holdcot. Piemur had
only reached the shed when the Miner came striding after
him, thrust a small bulging sack at him.

"This is what you were sent for. Tend your beast while I
tend these unexpected arrivals."

Piemur's trained ear did not miss the apprehension in the
Miner's tone nor the implicit command that Piemur was to
remain out of sight. He made no comment, stuffing the
small sack in his belt pouch while the Miner watched. The
man left as Piemur vigorously pumped water into the
trough for his thirsty beast. As soon as the Miner reached
his cot, Piemur changed his position so that he had a clear
view of the one reasonably level area of the minehold
where dragons could land.

Only the bronze did. The two blues settled on the ridge
above the mine opening. Sight of the great beast that
backwinged to the ground told Piemur all he needed to
know to understand the Miner's grimness. Before their exile
south, the Oldtimers from Port Weyr had made few ap-
pearances, but Piemur recognized Fidranth by the long sear
scar on his rump and T'ron by the arrogant swagger as he
strode up to the minecot. Piemur didn't need to hear the
conversation to know that T'ron's manner had not altered
in his Turns south. With a very stiff ,bow, the Miner
stepped aside as T'ron, slapping his flying gloves against
his thigh, strode disdainfully into the cothold. As the
Miner followed, he glanced toward the shed. Piemur ducked
behind the runner.

"It needed little wit now to realize why the Miner had
thrust the sack at him. Piemur investigated the contents:

only four of the blue stones that spilled into his hand had
been cut and polished. The others, ranging from one the
size of his thumbnail to small uneven crystals, were rough.
The blue sapphires were much prized by the Harper Hall,
and stones as large as the four cut ones were mounted as
badges for Masters of the Craft. Four cut stones? Four new
masters walking the tables? Would Sebell be one of them,
Piemur wondered.

Piemur thought a moment and then slipped the cut
stones carefully, two and two, into his boots. He wiggled
his feet until the stones settled, sharp lumps against his an-

35

kles but they'd not slip out. He hesitated as he was about
to stow the sack in his pouch. He doubted T'ron would
stoop to searching a lowly apprentice, but the stones made
a suspicious bulge. Checking the leather to make sure it
bore no miner's mark, he wrapped the thong on the back-
pad ring beside his drinking flask. Then he took off his
jacket, folding the harper badge inside before he slung it
over the pump handle. Trail dust had turned his blue pants

to a nondescript gray.

A clink of boot nails on the ridge stone warned him and,

whistling tunelessly, he picked up the beast's feet in turn,
checking for stones in the cleft hooves.

"You there!"
The peremptory tone irritated Piemur. N'ton never spoke

like that, even to a kitchen drudge.

"Sor?" Piemur unbent and stared around at the Old-
timer, hoping his anxious expression masked the anger he
really felt. Then he glanced apprehensively at the Miner,
saw a harsh wariness in the man's eyes and added in his
Tsest hillhold mumble, "Sor, he was that sweated, I've had a

time cleaning him up."

"You've other work to do," said the Miner in a cold

voice, jerking his head toward the cothold.

"A day too late, am I, Miner? Well, there's been yester-
day's work and this morning's." The Oldtimer supercil-
iously gestured the Miner to precede him toward the open

shaft.

Piemur watched, keeping a dull expression on his face as

the two men disappeared from sight. Inwardly he was right
pleased with his dissembling and was positive he'd seen an

approving glint in the Miner's eyes.

By the time he had finished grooming the runner from
nose to dock, T'ron and the Miner had not yet reappeared.
What other work would he have to do if he were a genuine
miner's apprentice? It would be logical for him to stay far
away from the shaft at the moment, for he'd be scared of
the dragonrider if not of his master. Ah, but the Miner had

indicated the cothold.

Piemur pumped water into a spare pail and lugged it

back to the cothold, ogling with what he hoped was appro-
priate fear the blue dragons ensconced on the ridge, the
riders hunkered between them.

36




The minecot was divided into two large rooms, one for
sleeping, the other for relaxing and eating, with a small
portion curtained off for the Miner's privacy. The curtain
was open, and plainly the disgruntled dragonrider had
searched the press, locker and bedding. In the kitchen area,
every drawer was open and every door was ajar. A large
cooking pot on the hearth was boiling so hard its contents
frothed from under its cover. Not wishing what might be
his meal in the ashes, Piemur quickly swung the pot away
from the full heat of the fire. Then he began to tidy the
kitchen area. No lowly apprentice would enter the Master's
quarters, however humble, without direct permission. He
heard voices again, the Miner's low comments and T'ron's
angry reproaches. Then he heard the sounds of hammers
against stone and ventured to look cautiously through the
open window.

Six miners were squatting or kneeling, carefully chipping
rough dark stone and dirt from the blue crystals possibly
within. As Piemur watched, one of the miners rose, extend-
ing the palm of his hand toward the Miner. T'ron inter-
cepted the gesture and held the small object up to the sun.
Then he gave an oath, clenching his fist. For a moment,
Piemur thought that the Oldtimer was going to throw the
stone away.

"Is this all you're finding here now? This mine pro-
duced sapphires the size of a man's eye—"

"Four hundred Turns ago it did indeed, Dragonrider,"
said the Miner in an expressionless voice that could not be
construed either as insolent or courteous. "We find fewer
stones nowadays. The coarse dust is still good for grinding
and polishing other gems," he added as the Oldtimer
stared at the man carefully brushing what seemed like glis-
tening sand into a small scoop, which he then emptied in a
small lidded tub.

"I'm not interested in dust. Miner, or flawed crystals."
He held up his clenched fist. "I want good, sizable sap-
phires."

He continued to stand there, glaring at each of the min-
ers in turn as they tapped cautiously away. Piemur, hoping
that no larger sapphires would be discovered, made himself
busy in the kitchen.

By the time the sun was westering behind the highest of

37

the ridges, only six medium to small sapphires had re-
warded T'ron's afternoon vigil. Piemur -was not the only
one to watch, half-holding his breath, as the Oldtimer
stalked to Fidranth and mounted. The old bronze showed
no faltering as he neatly lifted in the air, joined by the two
blues. Only when the three had winked out between did
the miners break into angry talk, crowding up to the
Miner, who brushed them aside in his urgency, to get to

the minecot.

"I see why you're a messenger, young Piemur," said the
Miner. "You've all your wits about you." Grinning, he ex-
tended his hand.

Piemur grinned back and pointed toward his backpad
and the sack with its precious contents, looped in plain.
sight to the ring. He heard the Miner's astonished oath,
which turned into a roar of laughter.

"You mean, he spent all afternoon facing what he

wanted?" cried the Miner.

"I did put the cut gems in my boots," Piemur said with
a grimace for one of the stones had rubbed his ankle raw.

As the Miner retrieved the sack, the others began to
cheer, for they'd had no chance to leam that the Miner had
managed to save the product of several sevendays' labor.
Piemur found himself much admired for his quick think-
ing as well as his timely arrival.

"Did you read my mind, lad," asked the Miner, "to
know that I'd told the old grasper I'd sent the gems off

yesterday?"

"It seemed only logical," Piemur replied. He'd taken his
boots off just then, examining the scratches the sapphires
had made. "It would've been a crying shame to let old
T'ron get away with these beauties!"

"And what are we going to do, Master," asked the old-
est journeyman, "when those Oldtimers come back again in
a few sevendays' and take what we've mined? That placer's

not played out yet."

"We're closing up here tomorrow," said the Miner.

'"why? We've just found more—"

The Miner signaled silence abruptly.

"Each craft has its privacies," said Piemur, grinning
broadly. If the Miner felt an apprentice required no apol-
ogy for such curtness, he would not be admonished for

impertinence for repeating a well-known rule. "But I shall
have to mention this to Master Robinton, if only to explain
why I'm so late returning."

"You must tell the Masterharper, lad. He's got to know
if no one else. I'll tell Masterminer Nicat." Then he swung
about the room with a warning look at each of his own
craftmen. "You all understand that this matter goes no
further? Well and good. T'ron got only a few flawed
stones—you were all very clever with your hammers today,
though I deplore cracking good sapphires." The Miner
sighed heavily for that necessity. "Master Nicat will know
which other miners to warn. Let the Oldtimers seek if it
amuses them." When the older journeyman laughed deri-
sively, the Miner went on, raising an admonishing finger at
him. "Enough! They are dragonmen, and they did help
Benden Weyr and Pern when aid was badly needed!" Then
he turned to Piemur. "Did you save any of our stew, lad?
I've the appetite of a queen dragon after clutching."




Chapter 4

That day held one more event! At sunset, as Piemur was
helping the apprentice bring in the miners' runners from
the pasture, he heard the shrill cry of a fire lizard. Glanc-
ing up, he saw a slender body, wings back, drop with un-
nerving speed in his direction. The apprentice dropped to
the ground, covering his head with his arms. Piemur braced
his legs, but the bronze fire lizard did not come to his
shoulder. Instead, Rocky spun round his head, berating
him, his jewel-faceted eyes spinning violently red and or-
ange in anger.

It took Piemur a few minutes to talk Rocky into landing
on his shoulder and even more time to soothe the little
creature until his eyes calmed into tones of greeny blue. All
the time the miner apprentice watched, eyes bugged out.

"There now. Rocky. I'm all right, but I have to stay the
night here. I'm all right. You can tell Menolly that you've
found me, can't you? That I'm all right?"

Rocky gave a half-chirp that sounded so skeptical Pie-
mur had to laugh.

"Is that fire lizard yours?" asked the Miner curiously as
he approached Piemur, eyeing Rocky all the time.

"No, sir," said Piemur with such chagrin the Miner smiled.
"This is one of Menolly's, Master Robinton's journey-
woman. His name is Rocky. I help Menolly feed him morn-
ings, because she's got the nine and they're a right handful,
so he knows me pretty well."

"I didn't think the creatures had enough sense to find
people!"

"Well, sir, I have to say it's the first time it's happened
to me," and Piemur couldn't suppress the smug satisfaction
he was feeling that Rocky had been able to find him.

"Now that he's found you, what good will that do?"
asked the Miner with a revival of his skepticism.

40

"Well, sir, he could go back to Menolly and make her
understand that he's seen me. But it would be much more
useful if you'd let m& have a bit of hide for a message.
Tied on his leg, he'll take it back, and they'll know ex-
actly. . . ."

The Miner held up his hand admonishingly. "I'd rather
nothing in script about the Oldtimers' visit."

"Of course not, sir," replied Piemur, offended that he
needed to be cautioned.

A terse message was all he could scribe on the scrap of
hide the Miner grudgingly produced for him. The hide was
so old, had been scraped so often for messages, that the ink
blurred as he wrote. "Safel Delayed!" Then it occurred to
him to add in drum measures, "Errand completed. Emer-
gency. Old Dragon."

"You've a way with the little things, haven't you?" said
the Miner with reluctant respect as he watched Piemur
tying the message on Rocky's leg, an operation the fire liz-
ard oversaw as carefully as the Miner.

"He knows he can trust me," said Piemur.

"I'd say there were not many," replied the Miner in such
a dry tone that Piemur stared at him in surprise. "No of-
fense meant!"

Piemur had to concentrate just then on imagining Men-
olly as strongly as he could in his mind. Then, lifting his
hand high, he gave a practiced flick to send Rocky into
flight.

"Go to Menolly, Rocky! Go to Menolly!"

He and the Miner watched until the little fire lizard
seemed to disappear in the dimming light to the east. Then
the apprentice called them to their meal.

As he ate, Piemur wondered what the Miner had meant
by that remark. "Not many that fire lizards could trust?"
"Not many people that trusted Piemur?" Why would the
Miner say a thing like that? Hadn't he saved the miners'
sapphires for them? It wasn't as if he'd told any lies to do
so. Further he'd never taken any real advantage of his
friends in bargaining at a Gather or failing to keep a prom-
ise. All of his friends came to him for help. And, Shells,
wasn't the Masterharper entrusting him with this errand?
And knowing about Harper Hall secrets? What had the
Miner meant?

41

"Pienrur!" Someone shook him by the shoulder.
Abruptly the young harper realized that he'd been ad-
dressed several times.

"You're a harper! Can you not give us a song?"
The eagerness of the request from men isolated for long
periods of time in a lonely hold gave Piemur a genuine
pang of regret.

"Sirs, the reason I'm messenger is that my voice is
changing and I'm not allowed to sing just now. But," he
added seeing the intense disappointment on every face,
"that doesn't mean I can't talk them to you. If you've
something I can drum to give the rhythm."

After several attempts, he found a saucepan that did not
sound too flat, and while the men stomped their heavy
boots in time, he talked the newest songs from the Harper
Hall, even giving them Domick's new song about Lessa.
The Shell knew when they'd hear it sung, though no one
was supposed to hear it until Lord Groghe's feast. If the
performance of the spoken song lacked much in Piemur's
estimation. Master Shonagar couldn't hear, Domick would
never know, and the men were so grateful that he felt com-
pletely justified.

He left the minehold with the first rays of the sun and
made the trip back to the Harper Hall at a downhill pace
that all but forced his voice back up to the treble range. At
times his runner slithered unnervingly down tracks that
they had laboriously climbed the day before. Piemur closed
his eyes, held tightly to the saddle pad, and fervently
hoped not to go sailing off the track into the deep gorges.
"When he returned the stolid runner to Banak, it was barely
sweated under the midstrap while Piemur knew that his
armpits and back were damp with perspiration.
"Safe back, I see," was Banak's only remark.
"He may be slow, but he's sure-footed," said Piemur
with such exaggerated relief that Banak laughed.

As Piemur jogged into the Harper Hall court, he heard
Tilgin | bravely singing his first solo as Lessa. Piemur
grinned to himself, for Tilgin's voice sounded tired even if
he was note-wise. None of Menolly's fair was sunning on
the ridge, but Zair was sprawled on the ledge of the Harper's
window so Piemur took the steps two at a time. While he

42

sort of wished someone would encounter him on his tri-
umphant return, he was also relieved that he'd have no
temptation to blurt out his adventures.

Master Robinton's greeting, however, was warm enough
to make Piemur puff his chest out in pride.

"You make the most of your opportunities, young Pie-
mur—but kindly explain your cryptic measures before I
burst with curiosity! 'Old dragon' does mean oldtimers, I
take it?"

"Yes, sir," and Piemur took the seat the Harper indi-
cated and began. "T'ron and Pidranth with two blue drag-
ons came to relieve the Miner of his sapphires!"

"You're positive beyond doubt that it was T'ron and
Fidranth?"

"Positive! I did see them once or twice before they were
exiled. Besides, the Miner knew them all too well."

The Harper gestured for him to continue, and the day's
events made good telling with the best of all audiences in
the Masterharper, who listened intently without a single in-
terruption. He then asked Piemur to repeat, this time ques-
tioning a detail here, a response there, and extracting from
Piemur every nuance of the confrontation of Miner and
Oldtimer. He laughed appreciatively at Piemur's strategy
and lauded his caution of putting the four cut gems in his
boots. It was only then that Piemur remembered to hand
the precious stones to the Harper. The sun sparkled off the
facets as the sapphires lay on the table.

"I'll have a word with Master Nicat myself. And I think
I'll see him today," said Robinton, holding up one of the
gems between thumb and forefinger and squinting at it in
the sunlight. "Beautiful workmanship! Not a flaw!"

"That's what the Miner said," and then Piemur daringly
added. "I gather it's not easy to find the right blues for
masterharpers."

Master Robinton regarded Piemur, a startled expression
on his face, which changed to amusement. "You will keep
that to yourself as well, young man!"

Piemur nodded solemnly. "Of course, if I'd had a fire
lizard of my own, you wouldn't have had to worry about
me and the stones, and perhaps something could have been
done about T'ron."

The Harper's face altered and the flash in his eyes had

4?

nothing to do -with amusement. Now Plemur couldn't
imagine what had prompted him to say such a thing. He
didn't even dare look away from the Harper's severe gaze,
although he wanted more than anything else to creep away
and hide from his Master's disapproval. He did stiffen,
fully expecting a blow for such impertinence.

"When you can keep your wits about you as you did
yesterday, Piemur," said Master Robinton after an interm-
inable interval, "you prove Menolly's good opinion of
your potential. You have also just proved the main criticism
that Hall masters have expressed. I do not disapprove of am-
bition, nor the ability to think independently, but," and
suddenly his voice lost the cold displeasure, "presumption
is unforgiveable. Presuming to criticize a dragonrider is the
most dangerous offense against discretion. Further," and
the Harper's finger was raised in warning, "you are rush-
in?; toward a privilege you have by no means earned. Now,
ofi with you to Master Olodkey and leam the proper
drum measure for 'Oldtimer.' "

The- kindly note in his tone was almost too much for
Piemur, who could more easily have borne blows and a
tirade for his transgressions. He made his way to the door
as fast as his leaden legs could bear him.

"Piemur!" Robinton's voice checked him as he fumbled
for the latch. "You did handle yourself very well at the
Minehold. Only do," and the Harper sounded as resigned
as Master Shonagar often had, "do please try to guard your
quick tongue!"

"Oh, sir, I'll try as hard as I can, really I will!" His
voice cracked ignominiously, and he spun around the door
so that the Harper wouldn't see the tears of shame and
relief in his eyes.

He stood for a moment in the quiet hall, intensely grate-
ful that it was empty at this time of day as he conquered
dismay at his untimely insolence. The Harper was so
right: he had to learn to think before he spoke; he never
should have blurted out that unfortunate criticism of drag-
onriders. He'd've rated a right sound beating from any other
Master. Domick wouldn't have hesitated a moment, nor
even languid Master Shonagar, whose hand he'd felt many
a time for his brashness. But how had he dared criticize
dragonriders, even Oldtimers, to Master Robinton? Certain-

44

ly that took the prize for impudence, even from him.

Piemur shivered and vowed fervently to mind his
thoughts and, even more carefully, his tongue. Particularly
now, when he did know something of real significance. For
he had been aware, previous to his. imprudent comment,
that the appearance of the Oldtimers at the mine, not to
mention their errand, was unwelcome news to the Harper.

Besides, what could have been done about the Oldtimers'
illegal return to the North?

Piemur gave his own ear a clout that made his eyes swim
and then started down the corridor. Now, how was he to
find out the drum code for Oldtimers? Under the circum-
stances he couldn't just ask Dirzan outright without having
to explain why he needed to know. Nor could he ask one
of the other apprentices. They were annoyed enough with
him and his quick studying. There'd be a way, he was sure.

Then he wondered why Master Robinton had asked him
to find out. Was it a code he'd need? Did that mean the
Harper expected this wouldn't be the first such visit by
the Oldtimers? Or what?

The speculations on this subject occupied Piemur's mind
off and on for the next few days until he did have the
chance to check the code.

Somewhat to Piemur's disgust, Dirzan treated him as if
he had deliberately protracted his errand to avoid polishing
the drums. This was his first task, and because Piemur
couldn't polish when the drums were in use, it dragged on
until the midday meal.

That afternoon Piemur began to participate in another
activity of the drumheights, since he had unfortunately
learned the drum measures so well. All apprentices were
supposed to stop and listen when messages came in and
write down what they heard, if they could. Then Dirzan
checked their interpretations of the message. It seemed
harmless enough, but Piemur soon learned that it was one
more road to trouble for him. All drum messages were con-
sidered private information. A bit silly to Piemur's way of
thinking, since most journeymen and all masters had to be
adept in drum messages. A full third of the Harper Hall
would understand most of a drum message booming across
the valley. Nonetheless, if word of something especially
sensitive became common knowledge about the Hall, it was

45




deemed the fault of a gossipy drum apprentice. Piemur was

twigged for that role now!

When Dirzan first accused him of loose talk, a day or

two after he started writing messages, he stared in utter
astonishment at the journeyman. And got a hard clout

across the head for it.

"Don't try your ways on me, Piemur. I'm well aware of

your tricks."

"But, sir, I'm only in the Hall at mealtimes, and some-
times not even then."

"Don't answer back!"

"But, sir . . ."

Dirzan fetched him another clout, and Piemur nursed
his grievance in silence, rapidly trying to figure out which
of the other apprentices was making mischief for him.
Probably Clell! And how was he going to stop it? He cer-
tainly didn't want Master Robinton to hear such a

wretched lie.

Two days later a rather urgent message for Master 01-

dive was drummed through from Nabol. As Piemur was on
duty, he was dispatched with it to the Healer. Mindful of
a possible repeat accusation, Piemur noted that no one was
about in court or hall as he delivered his message. Master
Oldive bade him wait for a reply which he wrote on a then
carefully folded sheet. Piemur raced across the empty
court, up the stairs to the drumheights and arrived out of
breath, shoving the note into Dirzan's hand.

"There! Still in its original folds. I met no one coming

or going."

Dirzan stared at Piemur, his scowl deepening. "You're

being insolent again." He raised his hand.

Piemur stepped back deliberately, catching sight of the
other apprentices watching the scene with great interest.
The especially eager glint in Clell's eyes confirmed Pie-

mur's suspicion.

"No, I'm trying to prove to you that I'm no babble-
mouth, even if I did understand that message. Lord Meron
of Nabol is ill and requires Master Oldive urgently. But
who'd care if he died after what he's done to Pern?"

Piemur knew he'd merited Dirzan's blow then and

didn't duck.

"You'll learn to keep a civil tongue in your head, Pie-
mur, or it's back to the runner hold for you."

"I've a right to defend my honor! And I can!" Piemur
caught himself just in time before he blurted out that Mas-
ter Robinton could attest to his discretion. As rife with
rumor as the Harper Hall generally was, there hadn't been
a whisper about the Oldtimers' raid on the mine.

"How?" Dirzan's single derisive word told Piemur forci-
bly how very difficult that would be without being right-
fully accused of indiscretion.

"I'll figure a way. You'll see!" Piemur glared impotently
at the delighted grins of the other apprentices.

That night, when everyone else slept through the dead
hours, Piemur lay awake, restless with agitation. The more
he examined his problem, the harder it was to solve it with-
out being indiscreet on some count or another. When he'd
still been free to chatter with his friends, he could have
asked the help of Brolly, Bonz, Timiny or Ranly. Among
them, they'd surely have been able to discover a solution. If
he approached Menolly or Sebell about such a piffling
problem, they might decide he wasn't the right lad for
their needs. They might even consider his complaint a lack
of discretion in itself.

How right Master Robinton had been when he said that
Piemur might possibly be plagued into disclosing matters
best left unmentioned! Only how could the Harper have
known that Piemur was stuck in the one discipline, as a
drum apprentice, where he was most likely to be accused of
indiscretions?

One possibility presented itself to his questioning mind:

the apprentices, even Clell as the oldest, were still plodding
through the medium hard drum measures. Therefore some
parts of every long message reaching the Harper Hall were
incomprehensible to them. Now, if Piemur learned drum
language beat perfect, he'd understand the messages in full.
Not that he'd let Dirzan know that when he wrote the
message down for him. But he'd keep a private record of
everything he translated. Then, the next time there was a
rumor of a half-understood message, Piemur would prove
to Dirzan that he had known all the message, not just the
parts the other apprentices had understood.

To further achieve his end, Piemur kept to the drum-




heights even at mealtimes. Preferably within the sight of
Dirzan, the Master, or one of the other duty journeymen.
If he wasn't near others, he couldn't be accused of gossip-
ing to them. Even when he was sent on message-runs, he
made the return trip so fast no one could possibly accuse
him of dawdling and gossiping on the way. The only other
time he was in the court was to help Menolly feed the fire
lizards. Messages came through, some of them urgent, some
tempting enough, Piemur would have thought, for one of
the apprentices to repeat, but no whisper of rumor repaid
his immolation. In despair he gave up his plan and tore up
the messages he had written. But he still held himself away

from others.

He wasn't certain how much more of this he could en-
dure when Menolly appeared in the drumheights just after

breakfast one morning.

"I need a messenger today," she said to Dirzan.

"Clell would-—"

"No. I want Piemur."

"Now, Menolly, I wouldn't mind letting him go for a

minor errand but—"

"Piemur is Master Robinton's choice," she said with a.
shrug, "and he's cleared this with Master Olodkey. Piemur,

get your gear together."

Piemur blandly ignored the black looks Clell directed his

way as he crossed the living room.

"Menolly, I think you ought to mention to Master Rob-
inton that we haven't found Piemur too reliable—"

"Piemur? Unreliable?"

Piemur had been about to whip around and defy Dirzan,
but the amused condescension in Menolly's tone was a far
better defense than any he could muster under his circum-
stances. In one mild question, Menolly had given Dirzan,
not to mention Clell and the others, a lot to think about.

"Oh, he's been bleating to you, has he?"

Piemur could hear the sneer in the journeyman's voice.
He took a deep breath and continued to gather his things.

"In point of fact," and now Menolly sounded puzzled,
"he's not been talkative at all, apart from commenting on
the weather and the condition of my fire lizards. Should
he have reason to bleat, Dirzan?"

Piemur half-ran back into the room, to forestall any ex-


planation by the journeyman. This opportunity was playing
beautifully into his hands.
"I'm ready to go, Menolly."

"Yes, and we have to move fast." It was obvious to Pie-
mur that Menolly had wanted to hear Dirzan's reply. "I'll
be back to you on this, Dirzan. C'mon, Piemur!"

She led the way down the steps at a clatter, and only
when they had passed the first landing did she turn to
him.

"What have you been up to, Piemur?"
"I haven't been up to anything," he replied with such
vehemence that Menolly grinned at him. "That's the trou-
ble."

"Your reputation's caught up with you?"
"More than that. It's being used against me." As much
as Piemur wanted to expand, the less he said, he decided,
even to Menolly, the stronger his position.

"The other apprentices against you? Yes, I saw their ex-
pressions. What did you do to set them so?"

"Learned drum measures too fast is all I can think of."
"You sure?"

"I'm bloody sure, Menolly. D'you think I'd do anything
to get in the Masterharper's bad record?"

"No,' she said thoughtfully as they skipped down the
last flight. "No, you wouldn't. Look, we'll sort it out
when we come back. There's a Gather today at Igen Hold.
Sebell and I are to be there as harpers, but Master Robinton
wants you to play scruffy boy apprentice."

"Can I ask why?" Piemur delivered the question on the
end of a long suffering sigh.

Menolly laughed and reached out to ruffle his hair.
"You can, but I've no answer. We weren't told either.
He just wants you to wander about the Gather and listen."

"Has he got Oldtimers on his mind?" Piemur asked as
casually as he could.

"I'd say he probably does," Menolly answered after a
thoughtful moment. "He's been worried. I may be his
journeywoman, but I don't always know what's on his
mind. Neither does Sebell!"

They had reached the archway now and turned toward
the Gather meadow.

"I'm to ride a dragon?" asked Piemur. He lurched to a




stop, his eyes bulging out at the scene before him. Bronze
Loith was shaking his wings out in the sun, his great jew-
eled eyes gleaming blue-green as he turned his head to
watch the antics of the Ere lizards. Dwarfed by his bulk,
the tall figures of N'ton, Fort Weyrleader, and Sebell

stood by his shoulder.

"C'mon, Piemur. We mustn't keep them waiting. The
Gather at Igen is already well started."

Piemur struggled into his wherhide jacket, making that
an excuse for falling behind Menolly. Actually he was both
terrified and overjoyed at the prospect of riding, a dragoni
All those cloddies up there in the drumheights! He hoped
that they were watching, that they'd see him riding off on
a dragon! That'd teach them to smear his reputation. He
pushed from his mind the corollary that the privilege of
flying a dragonback would make his lot with his fellow
apprentices that much harder. What mattered was the
now! Piemur was going to ride a dragon.

N'ton had always been Piemur's ideal of a dragonrider:

tall, with a really broad set of shoulders, dark brown hair
slightly curled from being confined under a riding helmet,
an easy, confident air reflected by a direct gaze and a
ready smile. The contrast between this present Fort Weyr-
leader and his disgruntled predecessor, T'ron, was more
vividly apparent as N'ton smilingly greeted the harpers'

apprentice.

"Sorry your voice changed, Piemur. I'd been looking
forward to Lord Groghe's Gather and that new Saga I've
heard so much about from Menolly. Have you ridden
dragonback before, Piemur? No? Well, up with you, Men-
olly. Show Piemur the knack."

As Piemur attentively watched Menolly grab the riding
strap and half-walk up Lioth's shoulder, swing her leg ag-
ilely over the last neck ridge, he still couldn't believe his
good fortune. He could just imagine T'ron permitting a
journeyman, much less an apprentice lad, to ride his
bronze.

"See how it was done? Good. Up with you then, Pie-
mur!" Sebell gave him an initial boost, and Menolly leaned
over with a helping hand and a guide rope. It seemed a
long way up a dragon's shoulder.

Piemur grabbed the rope and just as he planted his

?"

booted foot on Lioth's shoulder, he wondered if he'd hurt
the dragon's smooth hide.

N'ton laughed. "No, you won't hurt Lioth with your
boots! But he thanks you for worrying."

Piemur was so startled that he almost lost his grip.

"Reach up, Piemur," Menolly ordered.

"I didn't know he'd hear me," he said in a gasp as he
settled astride Lioth's neck.

"Dragons hear what they choose to," she said, grinning.
"Sit back against me. Sebell's got to fit in front of you!"

The words were barely out of her mouth before Sebell
had swung up with the ease of considerable practice and
settled himself before Piemur. N'ton followed, passing
back the riding straps. Piemur thought that a needless cau-
tion. His legs were wedged so tightly between Menolly's
and Sebell's, he couldn't have moved if he had to. Then
Sebell peered over his shoulder at him.

"You'll have heard a lot about between, I expect, but I'll
warn you now: it's scary even when you know what to
expect."

"Right, Piemur," Menolly added, circling his waist with
her arms. "I've got you tight, and you hang on to Sebell's
belt."

"You won't feel once we're between," Sebell continued.
"There's nothing between except cold. You won't be able
to feel Lioth beneath your legs nor our legs against yours,
nor your hands about my belt. But the sensation lasts only
a few heartbeats. They'll sound very loud to you. Just
count 'em. We'll be doing the same thing, I assure you!"
Sebell's grin absolved Piemur from any expression of fear
or doubt.

Piemur nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He didn't
care what happened between. At least, he would have expe-
rienced it, which very few apprentice harpers could say.

Suddenly there was a great heave, and he cracked his
chin against Sebell's shoulderblade. Inadvertently looking
down, he saw the ground moving away from him as Lioth
sprang skyward. He could feel the great muscles along
Lioth's neck as the fragile-seeming wings took their first
all-important downsweep. Then the Gather meadow and
the Harper Hall seemed to rush away, and they were on a
level with the Hold fire-heights.

Sebell gave Piemur's hands, clutching his belt, a -warning
squeeze. The next heartbeat and there was nothing but a
cold so intense that it was painful. Except that Piemur
couldn't feel pain with his body, only sense that his lack of
tactile contact with reality included everything except the
wild beating of his heart against his ribcage. Ruthlessly he
clamped down on the instinct to scream. Then they were
back in the world again, Lioth gliding effortlessly down
to the right, a tremendous expanse of golden ground be-
neath his wings. Piemur shuddered again and kept his eyes
fixed on Sebell's shoulders. Hard as Piemur wished he
wouldn't, Lioth continued to glide downward, dipping
sideways at unnerving angles. Suddenly Piemur could hear
fire lizards cluttering, and despite his resolve not to look
around, found himself watching them zip about the

dragon.

"It is scarey to look down," Menolly's voice said in his

ear. "It's worse when they . . . ahhhhh. . . ."

Piemur felt his stomach drop and, to his horror, his seat
seemed to leave the dragon's neck. He gasped and clutched
more tightly at Sebell, feeling the man's diaphragm muscles

move as he chuckled.

"That's what I mean!" said Menolly. "N'ton says it's
only air currents, pushing the dragons up or letting them.

down."

"Oh, is that all?" Piemur managed to get the words out
in a rush, but his voice betrayed him. "All" came out in a
two-octave crack.

Menolly didn't laugh, and he felt more kindly toward
her than at any other time in their association.

"It always scares me," she said in a comforting shout by
his left ear.

He was just getting accustomed to this additional haz-
ard of flying dragonback when Lioth seemed to be diving
straight for the Igen River bed. He was pressed back
against Menolly and didn't know whether to clutch more
fiercely at Sebell's belt or relax into the pressure.

"Don't forget to breathe!" Menolly was shouting and, at
that, he barely heard her words as the wind ripped sound
away.

Then Lioth leveled and began to circle at a gentler rate
of descent toward the now-visible rectangle of a Gather.

To the left was the river, a broad, muddy stream between
red sandstone banks. Small sailing craft skimmed the sur-
face on a current that must be swifter than the turgid
surface suggested. To the right was the broad, clean-swept
rock shelf that led up to Igen Hold, a safe distance above
the highest flood marks left by the river on the sandstone
banks. Behind Igen Hold rose curious, wind-fashioned
cliffs, some of which made additional holds for Igen's peo-
ple, for there were no rows of cotholds adjoining the main
Hold here. Igen Hold also had no fire-heights, not needing
any since there was nothing but sand and stone around the
Hold proper, to which Thread could do no harm. The
lands that supplied Igen Hold were around the next bend
of the river, where the waters had been led inland by ca-
nals to supply watergrain fields.

Piemur wasn't sure that he would like living in such a
barren-looking Hold, even if no Thread could ever attack
it. And it was hot!

Red dust puffed up as Lioth landed, and suddenly Pie-
mur was unbearably warm. He began to unbelt his wher-
hide jacket before he released the riding strap and noticed
that Menolly was as quick to strip helmet, gloves and
jacket.

"I always forget how hot it is at Igen," she said, fluff-
ing out her hair.

"The dragons love it," said N'ton, pointing beyond the
Hold to where the rough shapes that Piemur had assumed
were rock now became recognizable as dragons, stretched
out to bake in the sun.

It was as he was sliding down Lioth's shoulder that Pie-
mur noticed the curious construction of the Gather rectan-
gle. There didn't seem to be any walkway. The only open
space was the customary central square for dancing.
Though who'd have the energy to dance in this heat he
didn't know.

Then Piemur ducked while Lioth showered them all
with sand as he vaulted into the air and winged to join the
other sunbathing dragons. The fire lizards—N'ton's Tris,
Sebell's Kimi and Menolly's nine—swirled up and away
and were met, midair, by other fire lizards, the augmented
fair swirling higher and higher in the joy of meeting.

"That'll occupy them for a while," said Menolly, then




she turned to Piemur. "Give me your flying gear and I'll
leave it at the Hold till you need it again."

"We must pay our respects to Lord Laudey and the oth-
ers," said Sebell, bringing out a handful of marks from his
pocket. He presented Piemur with an eighth piece and two
thirty-seconds. "I'm not being stingy, Piemur, but you'd
be questioned if you had too many marks about you. And I
don't think Igen Hold runs to bubbly pies."

"Too hot to eat 'em anyway." Piemur mopped his sweaty
forehead with one hand as he gratefully slid the marks into

his pouch.

"But they do make a confection of fruits that you might

like," said Sebell. "Anyway, move around and listen. Don't
get caught being nosy and come up to the Hold for the
evening meal. Ask for Harper Bantur if you have any trou-
ble. Or Deece. He remembers you."

They had reached the edge of the Gather tents, and now
Piemur realized that walking space existed but was consid-
erately covered with tenting to deflect the worst of the
sun's baking heat. It was simple now for Piemur to move
away from the journeymen harpers and the Weyrleader in
the steady flow of people sauntering past the Gather stalls.
He saw Menolly turn about, trying to see where he had got
to, then Sebell spoke to her, and she shrugged and moved

on with him.

Almost immediately Piemur noticed one great differ-
ence between this and the Gathers he had attended in the
west: people took their time. In order to separate himself
from his craftmates, Piemur had deliberately lagged be-
hind, but when he would have stepped out again at his
customary pace, he hesitated. No one was moving briskly
at all. Gestures and voices were languid, smiles slow, and
even laughter had a lazy fall. A great many people carried
long tubes from which they sipped. Stalls dispensing
drinks, chilled water, as well as sliced fruits, were
frequently placed and well-patronized. About every ten stalls
or so, there were areas where people lounged, either on the
sand or on benches placed about the edges. The tenting was
raised in corners to catch breezes sweeping up from the
river, cooling the lounge areas and the walkway.

Piemur did one complete walkabout of the Gather rec-
tangle. He could appreciate that, despite breezeways and

54

the expenditure of the minimum of physical effort, people
did not do much talking as they strolled from stall to stall.
The talking, either conversation or bartering, was done
while both parties sat comfortably. So he used one thirty-
second piece on a long tube of fruit juice and some succu-
lent slices of a rind-melon, found himself an inconspicuous
spot in one lounge area, and settled to listen as he sipped
his drink and ate.

At first he didn't quite catch the softer drawl of these
south-easterners. The low-pitched conversation between
two men on his left turned out to be the innocuous boast-
ing of one about the breeding lines of the splay-footed run-
ners he was hoping to barter profitably while the other
man kept extolling the virtues of the currently favored
strain. Disgusted at such a waste of his time, Piemur fo-
cused his ears on the group of five men on his right. They
were blaming the weather on Thread, the bad crops on the
weather and everything else except their lack of industry,
which Piemur thought would be the real problem. A group
of women were also murmuring against the weather, their
mates, their children and the nuisancy children of other
holds, but all in a fairly comfortable, tolerantly amused
fashion. Three men, with their heads so close together no
sound passed their shoulders, finally parted, but not before
Piemur saw a small sack pass from one to another and de-
cided that they must only have been bargaining hard. The
runnermen left and a new pair took their places, composed
their loose robes about them, leaned back and promptly
went to sleep. Piemur found himself growing more heavy-
eyed and sipped the last of his juice to keep him awake,
wondering if he would find another lounge area as dull.

A combination of excited voices and a chill breeze woke
him. He stared about him, wondering if he had missed a
drum message, and then oriented himself. Night had fallen
and, with the set of the sun, the cooler winds of evening
blew cheerfully through the raised flaps. There was no one
else in the tent with him, but he could smell the aroma of
roasting meats and scrambled to his feet. He'd be late at
the Hold for his supper, and he was hungry.

Cool evening had enlivened everyone, for the walkway
was now full of quickly stepping, chattering people, and
Piemur had to duck and dart his way out of the Gather

55




tents. The dragon lumps on the Hold cliff turned their
brilliant lanterns of eyes on the doings below them, rivaling
the blazing glow baskets set on high standards about the

Gather grounds.

No one challenged Piemur at the Hold courtyard gates,
and he found the main Hall by simply following the gen-
eral drift of the well-dressed people.

Lord Laudey, according to Harper Hall gossip, was not
a very outgoing man, but at a Gather, every Holder did
make an effort. The principal men and craftmasters of his
Hold were invited with their immediate families to dine in
the Hold Hall, as well as such dragonriders and visiting
Lord Holders, Craftmasters and Masters who might be at-
tending the Gather.

By custom, the harpers ate at the first table below the
main one. Piemur had never seen the resident Harper, Ban-
tur, and hoped that Menolly and Sebell were already at the
table. They were, and chatting in high spirits with Deece,
who'd been seconded to Bantur the night Menolly had
walked the tables to become a journeywoman, and with
Strud, who'd been posted to a sea hold on Igen River that
same night. Gray of hair but with bright and unusually blue
eyes, Bantur welcomed Piemur with such friendliness for a
mere apprentice that Piemur was made more uncomfortable
by kindness than he would have been by taciturnity. Ban-
tur insisted on getting him fresh meats and tubers from
one of the drudges and heaped his plate so high with choice
cuts that Piemur's eyes boggled.

The other harpers talked while he ate, and when he had
finally swallowed the last morsel, Bantur suggested they all
leave to make room for more of Lord Laudey's guests.
Then Bantur asked if Piemur would take a harper's turn on
drum or gitar and, when Piemur saw Sebell's discreet nod,
he agreed with a show of enthusiasm to take a gitar part.
""Why Piemur, I thought sure you'd take a drum part,"
said Menolly, her expression so bland that he nearly rose to

her bait.

Piemur restrained an urge to kick her in the shins and
smiled sweetly at her instead. "You heard today what the
drummers think of me," he replied so demurely that Men-
olly chortled until her eyes filled.

56

As the harpers filed out of the Hall for the Gather,
Sebell fell in step with Piemur.

"Heard anything of interest?"

"Who talks during the day's heat?" asked Piemur with
heartfelt disgust. He suspected that Sebell had known
about desert daytime indolence.

"You'll notice the change in them now, and you'll only
need to do the dance turns. If I gauge the Gather right,"
said Sebell, glancing ahead at Menolly's slender figure in
harper blue, "they'll keep her singing until she's hoarse.
They always do."

Piemur glanced swiftly at Sebell, wondering if the
journeyman was aware of showing his feelings for the
harper girl so openly.

The first dance turn was the longest and most energetic.
The crisp night air stimulated the dancers' gyrations until
they were energetic beyond Piemur's credence. Quite a
transformation from the languid manners of the afternoon.
Then, as Bantur, Deece, Strud and Menolly remained on
the platform to sing, Sebell nodded to Piemur to work his
way from the square's attentive audience toward the
smaller groups of men, drinking tubes in hand, conversing
in quiet tones.

The subdued level, Piemur decided, was out of courtesy
to the singers and their audience, but it made it hard for
him. He was about to give up when the word "Oldtimers"
caught his ear. He sidled closer to the group and, in the
light of the glow baskets, recognized two as seaholders, a
miner, a smith and an Igen holder.

"I don't say it was them, but since they've gone south,
we've had no more unexpected demands," said the smith.
"G'narish may also be an Oldtimer, but he follows Ben-
den's ways. So it had to have been Oldtimers."

"Young Toric often sends his two-master north for
trade," said one of the seaholders, in a voice so confidential
that Piemur had to strain to catch the words. "He always
has, and my Holder sees no harm in it. Toric's no dragon-
man, and those that stayed south with him don't fall un-
der Benden's order. So we trade. He may bargain close, but
he pays well."

"In marks?" asked the Igen holder, surprised.
"No. Barter! Gemstones, hides, fruit, such like. And

57

once"—here Piemur held his breath for fear of missing the
confidential whisper—"nine fire lizard eggs!"

"No?" Envy as well as surprised interest were expressed
in that startled reply. The seaholder quickly gestured the
man to keep his tone down. "Of course," and there was no
disguising the bitter jealousy, "they've all the sand beaches
in the world to search in the south! Any chance . . ."

The fascinating conversation broke off as another sea-
holder joined them, an older man, and possibly superior to
the gossiping seaman, for talk turned to other things, and
Piemur moved on.

Then Menolly began to sing alone, the other harpers ac-
companying her. All conversations died as she sang, with
what appeared to Piemur to be incredible aptness, the "Fire
Lizard Song."

Her voice was richer now, Piemur noticed with a critical
ear, the tone better sustained. He couldn't fault her musi-
cal phrasing. Nor should he be able to after three Turns of
severe instruction by Master Shonagar. Her voice was so
admirably suited to the songs she sang, he thought, and
more expressive than many singers who had even better
natural voices. As often as Piemur had heard the "Fire Liz-
ard Song," he found himself listening as intently as ever.
'When the song ended, he applauded as vigorously as every-
one else, only then aware that he had been equally captivated.
Putting words to music was not Menolly's only talent; she
put her music in the hearts and minds of her listeners, too.

'while her enrapt audience started shouting for their fa-
vorite tunes, she beckoned Sebell to the platform, and they
sang a duet of an eastern sea hold song, their voices so well
blended that Piemur's respect and admiration for his fel-
low harpers reached unprecedented heights. Now, if only
his voice turned tenor, he might have the chance to sing
with . . .

He played three more dance turns, but Sebell had been
correct: the Igen gatherers wanted Menolly whenever she
would favor them with song. Piemur also noticed that for
every solo she sang, there was at least one group song and a.
duet including the Igen harpers. Clever of her to forestall
ill-feeling. Too bad such discretion did not translate into
his particular problem with the drum apprentices!

58

Whether it was because he'd had a sleep in the afternoon
or because the desert air was particularly bracing, Piemur
was never sure, but it was only when he noticed the thin-
ning of the crowd around the dance area, and the in-
creased number of people rolled up in their blankets in the
Gather tents, that he began to feel fatigue. He looked
around then for Sebell and Menolly. When he saw nothing
of them, he finally sought a weary, yawning Strud, who
advised him, with a grin, to find a corner and get some
sleep, if he could.

It had been easy enough to sleep that afternoon, but
now, with no heat to lull him, the things he had heard—
music as well as malice—danced about in his mind. One
positive fact emerged: the Oldtimer's descent on the
miner in Fort Hold was not an isolated incident. He also
knew that while G'narish, Igen's Oldtime Veyrleader, was
respected, Igen Holders would have given much to be be-
holden to Benden instead.

A sharp peck on his ear woke him, and he had a momen-
tary fright before he focused his eyes on Rocky's cocked
head and heard the reassuring soft chirrup. Someone was
snoring lustily beside him, and Piemur's back was warm.
He cautiously eased away from this unknown sleeper.

Rocky chirped again and, hopping off his shoulder,
walked a few paces away with exaggerated steps before
looking back at Piemur. He wanted Piemur to come with
him, and while his eyes were not red with hunger, they
were whirling fast enough to indicate some urgency.

"I don't need a drum to get your message," Piemur said
under his breath as he moved further away from his snor-
ing bed companion. He really must have been tired to sleep
through that sort of racket.

Rocky landed on his right shoulder, poking at his cheek
to force his head left. Piemur obediently ducked under the
tent flap and, in the glows that were shedding a subdued
waning Ught on the sands before Igen Hold, he saw the
dark bulk of a dragon and several figures.

Rocky called in a sweet light voice and then took off
toward the group. Piemur followed, yawning and shivering
in the chill pre-dawn breeze, wishing he had some klah.
Especially if the presence of a dragon meant he had to go
between; he was cold enough already.

59

The dragon was not Lioth, as he'd half expected, but a
brown nearly ,as big as the Fort Weyr dragon. It had to be
Canth. And it was, for as he neared the group, he saw the
scars on Fnor's face from the dreadful, near-fatal scoring
he'd taken on his famous jump to the Red Star.

"Cmon, Piemur," called SebelL "Fnor's here to take us
to Benden Weyr. Ramoth's latest clutch is Hatching."

Piemur started to whoop with joy, then bit his tongue,
choking off his jubilation. Bad enough he'd been to a
Gather, but when CleU and that lot heard he'd been to a
Benden Hatching, his life wouldn't be worth a wax marki
He saw in the same instant that the others were expecting
him to react with appropriate anticipation and, loudly
damning his changing voice, he affected as genuine a smile
as he could manage. The groan that escaped him as he
climbed to Canth's back was for the inexorable forces he
wouldn't resist rather than the physical effort. He endured
in silence Sebell's teasing about the miseries of an appren-
tice's life, and then Menolly's for his silence, which she at-
tributed to either hunger or sleepiness.

"Never mind, Piemur," she said with an encouraging
smile, "there's bound to be some klah left in the pot for
you at Benden Weyr." She peered down at his face. "You
are awake, aren't you?"

"Sort of," he said, yawning again, then added for her
benefit, "I just can't take it in that me, Piemur, gets to go
to a Benden Weyr HatchingI"

Should he ask Menolly not to tell the Drum Master and
Dirzan? Could he ask her to say he'd been left at Igen
Hold until they could collect him? No, he couldn't, be-
cause she'd want to know why. And he couldn't tell her
because that would mark him a blubber-baby, bleater, bab-
blemouth. There had to be some way he could settle Clell
and Dirzan by himselfl

Despite his misgivings, Piemur succumbed to the fear-
charged thrill of Canth's initial vault into the air, the sen-
sation of being pressed down, the breathlessness as the huge
wings beat powerfully, and he felt the effort of Canth's
neck muscles under his buttocks. It wasn't quite as scarey
flying in this predawn darkness because he didn't know
how far he was above the ground, particularly since his
face was turned away from Igen Hold's fading lights;

60

but he caught his breath in a spurt of pure terror as F'nor
gave Canth the audible request to take them between to
Benden Weyr. He was again alone in the intense, sense-
deprived, utter cold, and then, before the cold could sink
to his bones, they had emerged into the brightening day,
momentarily suspended above the massive Bowl of Benden
Weyr.

He'd been to Fort Weyr once, by cart, with a group of
harpers, when Ludeth, the Weyrqueen, had her first queen
egg hatching. He'd thought that Fort was huge, but Ben-
den seemed much bigger. Perhaps because he was seeing it
from dragonback, perhaps because of the light, touching
the far edges of the Bowl, gilding the lake. Perhaps it was
because this was Benden, and Benden figured so hugely
and importantly in his eyes, and the eyes of everyone else
on Pern.

Without Benden and her courageous leaders, Pem might
have been half-destroyed by Thread.

Another dragon appeared in the air just above them, and
instinctively Piemur ducked, hearing Menolly laugh at his
reflex. A third and then a fourth dragon arrived even as
Canth began to glide down to the bowl floor. By the time
Piemur could slide from Brown's shoulder to the ground,
he marveled that the dragons hadn't collided midair, ap-
pearing as they had with such startling frequency.

Beauty, Kimi, Rocky and Diver popped in above Menol-
ly's head, caroling with excitement, and suddenly they
were joined by five other fire lizards Piemur had never
seen before. When Menolly muttered worriedly about feed-
ing fire lizards before they disrupted the Weyr, F'nor
laughingly told them to find Mirrim. She was likely to be
supervising breakfast in the kitchen caverns. Sebell's nudge
in his ribs reminded Piemur to thank the brown rider and
his dragon. Then the three harpers made their way across
the Bowl to the brightly lit cavern.

The enticing aromas of fresh klah and toasted cereals
quickened their steps, Menolly leading the way toward the
smallest hearth, away from the bustle and hurry of weyr-
folk at the larger fires.

"Mirrim?" she called, and the girl at the hearth turned,
her face lighting as she recognized the new arrivals.

"Menolly! You came! Sebell! How are you? What have

61

you been up to recently to get so tanned? Who's this?" Her
smile disappeared as she noticed Piemur bringing up the
rear, as if such a scruffy apprentice shouldn't be in such
good company.

"Mirrim, this is Piemur. You've heard me speak of him
often enough," said Menolly, putting her hand on Piemur
to draw him forward and closer to her, the intimacy a
guarantee of him to Mirrim. "He was my first friend at
the Harper Hall, as you were mine here. We've all been at
the Igen Gather. Baked yesterday, frozen this morning,
and very hungry!" Menolly let her tone drift upward
plaintively.

"Well, of course, you're hungry," said Mirrim, breaking
off her stem appraisal of Piemur to turn to the hearth. She
filled cups and bowls and set them out on one of the small
tables with such alacrity that Piemur changed his first, un-
flattering impression of her. "I can't stop long with you.
You know how things are at the Weyr when there's a
Hatching; so much to do. The important details you
really have to see to yourself to be sure they're done right."
She flopped gracelessly into a chair with an exaggerated
sigh of relief to underscore the weight of responsibility on
her shoulders. Then she ran both hands through the fringe
of brown hair on her forehead, ending the gesture with
pats at the near plaits that hung down her back.

Piemur eyed her with a certain skeptical cynicism but,
when he realized that Menolly and Sebell took no notice of
her mannerisms and had sought out her company from
everyone in the busy cavern, he came to the reluctant con-
clusion that there must be more to her than was obvious.

Beauty landed on Menolly's shoulder just then, chirrup-
ing with some petulance, her eyes whirling reddishly. Diver
swooped _to Menolly's other shoulder just as Kimi landed on
Sebell's. Rocky, to Piemur's intense delight, came to roost
on his.

"I thought that was Rocky," Mirrim said, pointing ac-
cusingly at Piemur as if he oughtn't to have a fire lizard
anyhow.

"It is," said Menolly with a laugh, "but Piemur helps me
feed him every day so Rooky's just reminding us he's hun-
gry, too."

"Why didn't you say they hadn't been fed?" Mirrim

62

bounced to her feet, scowling with disapproval. "Really,
Menolly, I'd've thought you'd take care of your friends
first. . . ."

Sebell and Menolly exchanged guilty smiles as Mirrim
stalked off to a table where women were cutting up wher-
ries for the Hatching Feast. She returned with a generous
bowlful of scraps, three fire lizards hovering anxiously
above her. She shooed them away, reminding them with
gruff affection that they'd already been fed. To Piemur's
relief, because he was developing an antipathy to her man-
ner, Mirrim was called away to one of the main healths.
Rocky poked his cheek imperiously, and Piemur concen-
trated on feeding him.

"Is she a good friend of yours?" Piemur asked when the
first edge of fire lizard hunger had been eased.

Sebell laughed, and Menolly made a rueful grimace.

"She's very good-hearted. Don't let her ways put you
off."

Piemur grunted. "They have."

Sebell laughed again, offering Kimi a large chunk of
meat so he could get a swallow of his klah while she strug-
gled to chew. "Mirrim does take a bit of getting used to
but, as Menolly says, she'll give you the shirt from her
back ..."

"Complaining all the time, I'll wager," Piemur said.

Menolly's expression was solemn. "She was fosterling to
Brekke, and Manora's always said that it was Mirrim's de-
voted nursing that helped Brekke live after her queen was
killed."

"Really?" That did impress Piemur, and he looked for
Mirrim among the knot of women by .the hearth as if this
disclosure had caused her to change visibly.

"Don't, please don't judge her too quickly, Piemur,"
said Menolly, touching his arm to emphasize her request.

"Veil, of course, if you say so . . ."

Sebell winked at Piemur. "She says so, Piemur, and we
must obey!"

"Oh, you," and Menolly dismissed Sebell's teasing with a
scowl of irritation. "I just don't want Piemur jumping to
the wrong conclusion on the basis of a few moments* meet-
ing—"

"When everyone knows," and Sebell rolled his eyes ceil-

63

ing-ward, "that it takes time, endurance, tolerance and luck
to appreciate Mirrim!" Sebell ducked as Menolly threat-
ened him with her spoon.

They had finished feeding the fire lizards and sent them
out to sun themselves when Mirrim popped up before them
again, exhaling a mighty sigh.

"I don't know how we're going to get everything fin-
ished in time. Why those eggs have to be so awkward in
their timing. Half the western guests will be dead of sleep
and need breakfast. . . . See?" She waved toward the en-
trance where dragons were depositing more passengers.
"There's so much to be done. And I particularly want to
get to this Hatching. Pelessan's a candidate today, you
know."

"So F'nor told us. I could manage the breakfast hearth,
Mirrim," said Menolly.

"Just set us a task," said Sebell, throwing his arm across
Piemur's shoulders, "and we'll do our best to assist."

"Oh, would you?" Suddenly the affected manners
dropped, and Mirrim's scowl gave way to an incredulous
smile of relief, illuminating her face and making her a very
pretty girl. "If you would just set up those tables," and she
pointed to stacks of trestles and tops, "that'd be the great-
est help!"

She was again summoned across the cavern and dashed
off with a smile of such unaffected gratitude that Piemur
stared after her in astonishment. Why did the girl act
oddly? She was much nicer when she was just herself I

"So, Felessan stands on the Hatching Ground," said Se-
bell. "I missed that this morning."

"Sorry, thought I'd told you," said Menolly, rising to
clear the table of their dishes. "I wonder if he'll Impress."

"Why shouldn't he?" asked Piemur, startled by her
doubt.

"He may be the son of the Weyrleaders, but that doesn't
necessarily mean he'll Impress. Dragon choice can't be
forced."

"Oh, Pelessan'U Impress," said a dragonrider, approach-
ing the small hearth, two others just behind him. "Are you
tending the pot, Menolly?"

"And a good day to you, T'gellan," Menolly said with a
pert smile for the bronze rider as she poured klah for him.

64

"How's yourself, Sebell?" T'gellan went on, seating him-
self on the bench and gesturing to the other riders to join
him.

"Hard put upon," said Sebell in a long-suffering tone
that sounded suspiciously like an imitation of Mirrim. "We
just got organized to set up the tables. C'mon, Piemur, be-
fore Mirrim lays about us with her ladle."

Because Menolly had so stoutly championed Mirrim, Pie-
mur kept an eye out for the girl as he and Sebell arranged
the additional tables. He spotted Mirrim dashing from one
hearth to another, called to assist in trussing wherries for
roasting, herdbeasts for the spit. He watched her organize
one group of youngsters to peel roots and tubers and an-
other to laying the tables with utensils and platters. He
decided that Mirrim had not been puffing up her respon-
sibilities.

Menolly, too, was kept busy, feeding dragonriders and
their sleepy-eyed passengers, dragged from their beds for
the imminent Hatching.

Sebell and Piemur had just set up the last table when a
faint hum reached their ears. Fire lizards reappeared in the
cavern, the high notes of their chirruping a counter-
cadence to the low bass throb of the humming dragons.

Mirrim, divested of her apron and brushing water stains
from her skirt, came dashing toward them.

"C'mon, Oharan promised to save us all seats by him,"
she cried and led the way across the Bowl at a run.

The Weyr Harper had kept them places in the tiers
above the Hatching Ground, though, he informed them,
his life had been threatened by Holders and Craftmasters.
Piemur could see why as he settled down, for this was a.
splendid position, in the second tier, close to the entrance
so that the view of the entire Ground was clear. There was
no queen egg for Ramoth to guard, so the Benden queen
dragon was standing to one side of the ground, Lessa and
F'lar on the ledge above her. Occasionally the enormous
golden dragon looked up at her weynnate, as if seeking
assurance or, Piemur thought, consolation, since the eggs
she had clutched were shortly to be taken from her care.
The notion amused Piemur, for he'd never have ascribed
maternal emotions to Benden's preeminent queen dragon.
Certainly Ramoth with her yellow flashing eyes and rest-

65

less foot-shifting, wing-rustling, was a far picture from the
gentle concern female herdbeast or runners showed their
offspring.

A blur of white, seen from the corner of his eye, drew
Piemur's attention to the Hatching Ground entrance. The
candidates were approaching the eggs, their white tunics
fluttering in the light morning breeze. Piemur suppressed
his amusements as the boys, stepping further on the hot
sands, began to pick up their feet smartly. When they had
reached the clutch, they ranged themselves in a loose semi-
circle about the gently rocking eggs. Ramoth made a noise
like a disapproving growl, which the boys all ignored, but
Piemur noticed that the ones nearest her edged surrepti-
tiously away.

A startled murmur ran through the audience as one of
the eggs rocked more violently. The sudden snapping of
the shell seemed to resound through the high-ceilinged cav-
ern, and the dragons on the upper ledges hummed more
loudly than ever with encouragement. The actual Hatching
had begun. Piemur didn't know where to look because the
audience was as fascinating as the Hatching: dragonriders'
faces with soft glows as they relived the magic moment
when they had Impressed the hatchling dragon who be-
came their life's companion, minds indissolubly linked. On
other faces was hope, breathless and incredulous, as guests
and parents of the candidates waited for the moment when
their lads would be chosen, or rejected, by the hatchlings.
Fire lizards, respectfully quiet, perched on many shoulders
in the Ground. And Piemur, who could never aspire to Im-
press a dragon, was reminded of that unfilled promise,
that he would have a fire lizard one day. He wondered if
Menolly remembered her promise to him. Or if he'd ever
have the opportunity to remind her of it.

"There's Pelessan," said Menolly, nudging him sharply
with her elbow. She pointed to a leggy figure with such a
luxuriant growth of dark curling hair that his head seemed
oversized.

"He doesn't even look nervous," said Piemur, as he
noted the signs of apprehension in other candidates who
shifted uneasily or twitched unnecessarily at their tunics.
A concerted gasp directed their attention from Felessan,
and they saw that several more eggs were rocking violently

66

as the hatchlings struggled to be free. Abruptly an egg
split open, and a moist little brown dragon was spilled to
his feet on the hot sands. Dragging his fragile-looking
damp wings on the ground, he began to lunge this way and
that, calling piteously, while the adult dragons crooned en-
couragement, reinforced by Ramoth's half-hum, half-howl.

The boys nearest the dragonet tried to anticipate his di-
rection, hoping to Impress him, but he lurched out of their
immediate circle, staggering across the sands, his call plain-
tive, desperate until the next group of boys turned. One,
prompted by some instinct, took a step forward. The little
brown's cries turned joyous, he tried to extend his wet
wings to bridge the distance between them, but the boy
rushed to the dragon's side, caressing head and shoulders,
patting the damp wings while the little hatchling crooned
with triumph, his jeweled eyes glowing the blue and purple
of love and devotion. The day's first Impression had been
made!

Piemur heard Menolly's deep and satisfied sigh and
knew that she was reliving the moment she had Impressed
her fire lizards in the Dragon Stones cave three Turns ago.
He was again assailed by a deep stab of envy. When would
he rate a fire lizard?

Excited cries brought his attention back to the Hatching
Ground as more eggs cracked, exposing their occupants.

"Watch Felessan, Piemur! There's a bronze near him ..."
cried Mirrim, grabbing Piemur's arm in her excitement.

"And two browns and a blue," added Menolly, scarcely
less excited as she canted her body in a mental effort to
direct the little bronze toward Felessan. "He deserves a
bronze! He deserves one!"

"Only if the dragon wants him," said Mirrim senten-
tiously. "Just because he's the Weyrleader's son—"

"Shut up, Mirrim," said Piemur, exasperated, clenching
his fists, urging the Impression to occur.

Felessan was aware of the bronze's proximity, but so
were a handful of other candidates. The little creature,
rocking unstably on his wobbly legs, seemed not to see any
of them for a moment. Then the wedge-shaped head fell
forward and got buried in the sand as his hind legs over-
balanced him. It was too much. Felessan gently righted the
little beast and then stood transfixed, the expression on his

67

exultant face plainly visible to his friends as Impression was
made.

Ramoth's bugle astonished everyone into a long moment
of silence; but it was no wonder, Piemur thought, that
F'lar and Lessa were embracing each other at the sight of
their one child Impressing a bronzel

The excitement was over too soon, Piemur thought, just
moments later. He wished that all the eggs hadn't hatched
at once, so this dizzy happiness could be extended. Not
that there wasn't some disappointment and sadness, too,
because far more candidates were presented to the eggs
than could Impress. Only one little green had not Im-
pressed, and she was mewling unhappily, butting one boy
out of her way, lurching to another and peering up into his
face, obviously searching for just the right lad. She had
worked her way toward the tiers, despite the efforts of the
remaining candidates to attract her attention and keep her
well out into the Ground.

"Whatever is the matter with those boys?" demanded
Mirrim, frowning with anxiety over the little green's pa-
thetic wandering. She stood up, gesturing peremptorily to
the candidates to close around the little green.

Just then the creature began to croon urgently and made
directly for the steps that led up to the tiers.

"What is possessing her?" Mirrim asked no one in partic-
ular. She looked behind her accusingly, as if somehow a
candidate might be hiding among the guests.

"She wants someone not on the Ground," rang a voice
from the crowd.

"She's going to hurt herself," said Mirrim in an agitated
mutter and pushed past the three people seated between her
and the stairs. "She'll bruise her wings on the walls."

The little green did hurt herself, slipping oS the first
step and banging her muzzle so sharply on the stone that
she let out a cry of pain, echoed by a fierce bugle from
Ramoth who began to move across the sands.

"Now, listen here, you silly thing, the boys you want are
out there on the Ground. Turn yourself around and go
back to them," Mirrim was saying as she made her way
down the steps to the little green. Her fire lizards, calling
out in wildly ecstatic buglings, halted her. She stared for a
long moment at the antics of her friends, and then, her

"?»

expression incredulous, she looked down at the green
hatchling determinedly attacking the obstacle of steps. "I
can't!" Mirrim cried, so panic-stricken that she slipped on
the steps herself and slid down three before her flailing
hands found support. "I can't!" Mirrim glanced about her
for confirmation. "I'm not supposed to Impress. I'm not a
candidate. She can't want me!" Awe washed over the con-
sternation on her face and in her voice.

"If it's you she wants, Mirrim, get down there before she
hurts herself!" said F'lar, who had by now reached the
scene, Lessa beside him.

"But I'm not—"

"It would seem that you are, Mirrim," said Lessa, her
face reflecting amusement and resignation. "The dragon's
never wrong! Come! Be quick about it, girl. She's scraping
her chin raw to get to you!"

With one final startled look at her Weyrleaders, Mirrim
half-slid the remaining steps, cushioning the little green's
chin from yet another harsh contact with the stone of the
step.

"Oh, you silly darling! Whatever made you choose me?"
Mirrim said in a loving voice as she gathered the green into
her arms and began to soothe the hatchling's distressed
cries. "She says her name is Path!" The glory on Mirrim's
face caused Piemur to look away in embarrassment and
envy.

For one brief moment, Piemur had entertained the bi-
zarre notion that maybe the little green dragon had been
looking for him. A deep sigh fluttered through his lips,
and a hand was laid gently on his shoulder. Schooling his
expression, he turned to see Menolly watching him, a deep
pity and understanding in her eyes.

"I promised you Turns ago that you'd have a fire lizard,
Piemur. I haven't forgotten. I will keep that promise!"

As one they turned their heads back to watch Mirrim
fussing over her Path, her fire lizards hopping on the
sands, chattering away as if welcoming the little green in
their own fashion.

"Come on, you two," said Sebell, as Mirrim began to
encourage Path to walk out of the Hatching Ground.
"We'd better see Master Robinton. This is going to cause
problems." The last he said in a low voice.

69

"Why?" asked Piemur, making sure they weren't over-
heard. But everyone was filing out of the tiers now, eager
to congratulate or condole. "She's weyrbred."

"Greens are fighting dragons," began Sebell.

"In that case, Mirrim's well paired, isn't she?" asked Pie-
mur with droll amusement.

"Piemurl"

At Menolly's shocked remonstrance, Piemur turned to
Sebell and saw an answering gleam, though the journeyman
turned quickly and started down the steps.

"Sebell's right, though," Menolly said thoughtfully as
they started across the hot sands, quickening their pace as
the heat penetrated the soles of their flying boots.

"Why?" asked Piemur again. "Just because she's a girl?"

"There won't be as much shock as there might be," Se-
bell went on. "Jaxom's Impression of Ruth set a preced-
ent."

"It's not quite the same thing, Sebell," Menolly replied.
"Jaxom is a Lord Holder and has to remain so. And then
the weyrmen did think the little white dragon mightn't
live. And now he has, it's obvious he's never going to be a
full-sized dragon. Not that he's needed in the Weyrs, but
Mirrimis!"

"Exactly! And not in the capacity of green rider."

"I think she'd make a good fighting rider," said Pienmr,
keeping the comment carefully under his breath.

When they located Master Kobinton, he was already ear-
nestly discussing the matter with Oharan.

"Completely unexpected! Mirrim swears that she hadn't
been in the Hatching Ground at all when the candidates
were familiarizing themselves with the Eggs," Master Rob-
inton told his craftsmen. Then he smiled. "Fortunately,
with F'lessan Impressing a bronze, Lessa and F'lar are in
great spirits." Now he shrugged, his grin broadening. "It
was simply a case of the dragon finding her own partner-
ship where she wanted it!"

"As Ruth did with Jaxomi"

"Precisely."

"And that is the Harper message?" asked Sebell, glanc-
ing about the Bowl where knots of people surrounded
weyrlings and dragonets.

"There doesn't seem to be any other explanation. So let

70

us drink and be merry. It's a good day for Pem! And I'm
terribly dry," said the Masterharper as the Weyr Harper
solemnly proffered a cup of wine. "Oh thanks, Oharan.
Must be the heat of the Hatching Ground or the excite-
ment. I'm parched. Ahhhh." The Harper's sigh was of re-
lief and pleasure. "A good Benden vintage ... ah, an old
one, the wine has a mellowness, a smoothness . . ." He
glanced about him as his audience waited expectantly.
Oharan's hand casually covered the seal of the wineskin.
The Harper took another judicious sip. "Yes, indeed. I
have it now. The pressing of ten Turns back, and further-
more . . ." he held up a finger, ". . . it's from the north-
western slopes of upper Benden."

Oharan slowly uncovered the seal, and the others saw
that the Harper had been absolutely correct.

"I don't know how you do it, Master Robinton," said
Oharan, having hoped to confound his master.

"He's had a lot of practice," said Menolly at her driest,
and they all laughed as Master Robinton started to protest.

They had time for a quiet glass before the admiring
guests had exhausted all the possible things one could say
to a newly impressed pair. Then the 'weyrlingmaster took
his charges off to the lake where the newly hatched would
be fed, bathed and oiled, and the guasts began to drift
toward the tables, seating themselves for the feasting that
would follow.

Master Robinton led his craftsmen in a rousing ballad of
praise to dragons and their riders before he joined the
Weyrleaders and their visiting Lord Holders. Oharan, Se-
bell, Menolly and Piemur did the courtesy round to the
tables where the parents of new dragonriders were seated,
singing requests. Menolly's fire lizards sang several songs
with her before she excused them, explaining that they
were far more interested in the new dragons than singing
for mere people. Then she got involved with a group from
the crafthall at Bitra, and the other three harpers left her
explaining how to teach fire lizards to sing as they contin-
ued the rounds.

The tradition was that a harper's song deserved a cup of
wine. Chatting as they drank, Sebell and Oharan took
turns directing conversation where they wished it: Mir-
rim's unexpected Impression.

71

There was, to be sure, considerable surprise that Mirrim
had done so, but most of those queried found it to be no
large affair. After all, they said, Mirrim was weyrbred, a
fosterling of Brekke's, had Impressed three of the first fire
lizards to be found at Southern, so her unexpected rise to
dragonrider was at least consistent. Now Jaxom, who had
to remain Lord of Ruatha, was a different case entirely.
Piemur noticed that everyone was a good deal interested in
the health of the little white dragon and, while they wished
him the best, were just as pleased that he'd never make a
full-sized beast. Evidently that made it easier for people to
accept the fact that Ruth was being raised in a Hold in-
stead of 9. "weyr.

Holdlessness was a topic to which conversations returned
time and again that evening. Many lads, growing up in
land crafts, would not find holdings of their own when
they were old enough. There simply weren't any old places
left. Could not more of the mountainous regions of the far
north be made habitable? Or the remote slopes of High
Reaches or Crom? Piemur noted that Nabol, which ac-
tually had tenable land uncultivated, was never cited.      V
What about the marshlands of lower Benden? Surely with      "•
such a competent 'Weyr, more holds could be protected.      ^
Occasionally Piemur, standing or sitting at the edges of      f1
groups, would overhear fascinating snatches and try to      :,}
make sense out of them. Mostly he discarded them as gos-      '.^
sip, but one stuck in his tired mind. Lord Oterel had been       ;

the speaker. He didn't know the other man, though his
lighter clothes suggested he came from the southern part of
Pern. "Meron gets more than his share; we go without.
Girls impress fighting dragons, and our lad stands on the
Ground. Ridiculous!"

Piemur found it getting progressively harder to rise
from one table and move to another. Not that he was
drinking any wine; he had sense enough not to do that.
He just seemed to be more tired than he ought to be; if he
could just put his head down for a few moments.

He was scarcely conscious of the cold of between, only
annoyed because he was being forced to walk when he
wanted to sit down. He did recall some sort of argument
going on over his head. He could have sworn it was Silvina
giving someone the very rough edge of her tongue. He was

72

mercifuDy grateful that finally he was permitted to
stretch out on a bed, feel furs pulled over his shoulders,
and he could give in to the sleep he craved.

The bell woke him, and his surroundings confused him.
He looked about, trying to figure out where he was, since
he certainly wasn't in the drum apprentices' quarters. Fur-
ther he was on a rush bag on a floor—the floor in Sebell's
room, for the clothes Sebell had been wearing for the past
two days were draped on a nearby chair, his flying boots
sagging against each other by the bed. Piemur's empty
clothes had been neatly piled on his boots at the foot of the

rush bag.

The bell continued to ring, and Piemur, keenly aware of
the emptiness of his belly, hastily dressed, paused long
enough to splash his face and hands with water in case
anyone, like Dirzan, wanted to fault him on cleanliness and
proceeded down the corridor to the steps and the dining
hall. He was just turning into the hall when Clell and the
other three came in the main door. Clell flashed a look at
the others and then strode up to Piemur, grabbing him by

the arm roughly.

"Vhere've you been for two days?"

"Why? Did you have to polish the drums?"

"You're going to get it from Dirzant" A pleased smirk

crossed Clell's face.

'"why should he get it from Dirzan, Clell?" asked Men-
oily, quietly coming up behind the drum apprentices. "He's

been on Harper business."
"He's always getting off on Harper business," replied

Clell with unexpected anger, "and always with youl"

Piemur raised his fist at such insolence and leaned back
to make the swing count in Clell's sneering face. But Men-
oily was quicker; she swung the apprentice about and
shoved him forcefully toward the main door.

"Insolence to a journeyman means water rations for you,
Clell!" she said and, without bothering to see that he'd
continued out of the hall, she turned to the other three
who gawked at her. "And, for you, too, if I should learn
of any mischief against Piemur because of this. Have I
made myself perfectly clear? Or do I need to mention the

incident to Master Olodkey?"

The cowed apprentices murmured the necessary assur-

73

ances and, at her dismissal, lost themselves in the throng of
other apprentices.

"How much trouble have you been having in the drum-
heights, Piemur?"

"Nothing I can't handle," said Piemur, wondering when
he could get back at Clell for that insult to Menolly.

"Water rations for you, too, Piemur, if I see so much as
a scratch on Clell's face."

"But he . . ."

Bonz, Timiny and Brolly came flying into the hall at
that point and hailed Piemur with such evident relief that,
after giving Piemur a long, forbidding glance, Menolly
went off toward the journeyman's tables. The boys de-
manded to know where he'd been and he was to tell them
everything.

He didn't. He told them what he felt they should know
as far as the Igen Hold Gather was concerned, an innocu-
ous enough tale. And he could, and did, describe in great
detail the Impression of Path to Mirrim. The bare bones of
that unexpected event was already the talk of the Hall,
and Piemur had heard the public version so often that he
knew he wasn't committing any indiscretion. He was care-
ful to play down, even to his good friends, the circum-
stances that had brought him to Benden Weyr at such an
auspicious occasion.

"No dragonrider was going to take me, an apprentice
harper, all the way back to the Hall when there was a
Hatching, so I had to stay."

"C'mon, Piemur," said Bonz, thoroughly disgusted with
his indifference, "you can't ever get me to believe that you
didn't enjoy every moment of it."

"Then I won't. 'Cause I did. But I was just bloody
lucky to be at the Igen Gather right then. Otherwise I'd've
been back polishing the big drums yesterday!"

"Say, Piemur, you getting on all right with Clell and
those others?" asked Ranly.

"Sure. Why?" Piemur kept his voice as casual as he
could.

"Oh, nothing, except they're not mixers, and lately,
they've been sort of asking about you in a funny sort of
way." Ranly was worried, and from the solemn expressions
on the other faces, he had conEded their concern.

74

"You just haven't been the same since your voice
changed, Piemur," said Timiny, blushing with embarrass*
meat.

Piemur snorted, then grinned because Timiny looked so
uncomfortable. "Of course, Pm not, Tim. How could I be?
My voice is changing, and the rest of me, too."

"I didn't mean that . . ." and Tuniny faltered in a
muddle of confusion, looking at Bonz and Brolly for help
to express what puzzled them all.

Just then the journeyman rose to give out the day's as-
signments, and the apprentices were forced to be quiet.
Piemur held his breath, hoping that Menolly had not made
Clell's discipline a public one and felt relieved when it was
obvious that she hadn't. He was going to have enough
trouble with Clell as it was. Not that he worried about the
apprentice going hungry. He'd seen the other three secret-
ing bread, fruit and a thick wherry slice to smuggle out to
him.

As the sections dispersed for their work parties, Piemur
went to the drumheights, wondering exactly what awaited
him. He was not surprised to find that the drums had been
left for him to polish, or that Dirzan grumbled about his
absence because how could he learn enough to be a proper
drummer. And it was only to be expected that there was
no word of praise from Dirzan when he came out measure
perfect on all the sequences Dirzan asked him. What Pie-
mur wasn't prepared for was the state of his belongings
when Dirzan dismissed him. He got the first whiff when
he opened the door to the apprentices' room. Despite the
fact that both windows were propped wide open, the small
room smelled like the necessary. He opened the press for
clean clothes and realized where the worst of the offend-
ing stench lay. He turned, half-hoping this was all, but as
he ran his hand over his sleeping furs they were disgust-
ingly damp.

"Who's been . . ." Dirzan came striding into the room,
finger and thumb pinching his nose against the odor.

Piemur said nothing, he merely let the soiled clothing
unroll and held the furs up so that the light fell on the
long, damp stain. Dirzan's eyes narrowed, and his grimace
deepened. Piemur wondered what annoyed Dirzan more:

that Piemur's unexpectedly long absence had made the joke

75

more noisome than necessary, or that here was proof posi-
tive that Piemur was being harassed by his roommates.

"You may be excused from other duties to attend to
this," said Dirzan. "Be sure to bring back a sweet candle to
clear the odor. How they could sleep with that . . ."

Dirzan waited until Piemur had cleared the noxious
things from the room, and then he slammed the door with
such force that the journeyman on watch came to see what
was the matter.

With everyone scattered for work sections, Piemur man-
aged to get to the washing room without being stopped.
He was so furious he wouldn't have trusted himself to
answer properly if anyone had asked him the most civil of
questions. He slapped the furs, hair side out into the warm
tub, sprinkling half the jar of sweetsand on the slowly
sinking bedding. He shook the half-hardened stuff out of
his clothing into the drain, and then, with washing paddle,
shoved and prodded the garments to loosen the encrusta-
tions. If there were stains on his new clothes, he'd face a
month's water rations but he'd pay them all back, so he
would.

"What are you doing in here at this time of day, Pie-
mur?" asked Silvina, attracted by the splashing and
pounding.

"Me?" The force of his tone brought Silvina right into
the room. "My roommates play dirty jokes!"

Silvina gave him a long searching look as her nose told
her what kind of dirty jokes. "Any reason for them to?"

In a split second Piemur decided. Silvina was one of the
few people in the Hall he could trust. She instinctively
knew when he was shamming, so she'd know now that he
was being put on. And he had an unbearable need and urge
to release some of the troubles he had suppressed. This last
trick of the apprentices, damaging his good new clothes,
hurt more than he had realized in the numbness following
his discovery. He'd been so proud of the fine garments,
and to have them crudely soiled before he'd worn some of
them enough to acquire honest dirt hit him harder than the
slanders at his supposed indiscretions.

"I get to Gathers and Impressions," Piemur drew a whis-
tling breath through his teeth, "and I've made the mistake
of learning drum measures too fast and too well."

76

Silvina continued to stare at him, her eyes slightly nar-
rowed and her head tilted to one side. Abruptly she moved
beside him and took the washpaddle from his hand, slip-
ping it deftly under the soaking furs.

"They probably expected you back right after the Igen
Gather!" She chuckled as she plunged the fur back under
the water, grinning broadly at him. "So they had to sleep
in the stink they caused for two nights!" Her laughter was
infectious, and Piemur found his spirits lifting as he
grinned back at her. "That Clell. He's the one who planned
it. Vatch him, Piemur. He's got a mean streak." Then she
sighed. "Still, you won't be there long, and it won't do you
any harm to learn the drum measures. Could be very useful
one day." She gave him another long appraising look. "I'll
say this for you, Piemur, you know when to keep your
tongue in your head! Here, put that through the wringer
now and let's see if we've got the worst out!"

Silvina helped him finish the washing, asking him all
about the Hatching and Mirrim's unexpected Impression of
a green dragon. And how did he find the climate in Igen?
It was as much a relief for him to talk to Silvina without
restraint as to have her expert help in cleaning his clothes.

Then, because she said nothing would be dry before eve-
ning, she got him another sleeping fur, and a spare shirt
and pants, commenting they they were well-enough worn
not to cause envy.

"You'll mention, of course, that I tore strips out of you
for ruining good cloth and staining fur," she said with a
parting wink.

He was halfway out of the Hall when he remembered
the need for a sweet candle and went back for it, bearing
her loud grumbles to the rest of the kitchen with fortitude.

Afterward, Piemur thought that if Dirzan had ignored
the mischief the way Piemur intended to, the whole inci-
dent might have been forgotten. But Dirzan reprimanded
the others in front of the journeymen and put them on
water rations for three days. The sweet candle cleared the
quarters of the stench, but nothing would ever sweeten the
apprentices toward Piemur after that. It was almost as if,
Piemur thought, Dirzan was determined to ruin any
chance Piemur had of making friends with Clell or the
others.

77




Though he did his best to stay out of their vicinities, he
was constantly having benches shoved into his shins in the
study room, his feet trod on everywhere, his ribs painfully
stuck by drumsticks or elbows. His furs were sewn to-
gether three nights running, and his clothes were so fre-
quently dipped in the roof gutters that he finally asked
Brolly to make him a locking mechanism for his press that
he alone could open. Apprentices were not supposed to have
any private containers, but Dirzan made no mention of the
addition to Piemur's box.

In a way, Piemur found a certain satisfaction in being
able to ignore the nuisances, rising above all the pettiness
perpetrated on him with massive and complete disdain. He
spent as much time as he could studying the drum records,
tapping his fingers on his fur even as he was falling asleep
to memorize the times and rhythms of the most compli-
cated measures. He knew the others knew exactly what he
was doing, and there was nothing they could do to thwart
him.

Unfortunately, the coolness he developed to fend off
their little tricks began insidiously to come between him
and his old friends. Bonz and Brolly complained loudly
that he was different, while Timiny watched him with
mournful eyes, as if he somehow considered himself respon-
sible for Piemur's alterations.

Piemur tried to laugh it off, saying he was drum happy.

"They're putting on you up in the drumheights, Pie-
mur," said Bonz glowering loyally. "I just know they are.
And if Clell—"

"Clell isn't!" Piemur said in a tone so fierce that Bonz
rocked back on his heels.

"That's exactly what I mean, Piemur!" said Brolly, who
wasn't easily intimidated by a boy he'd known for five
Turns and still topped by a full head. "You're different
and don't give me that old wheeze about your voice chang-
ing and you with it. Your voice is settling. You haven't
cracked in days!"

Piemur blinked, mildly surprised at the phenomenon of
which he'd been unaware.

"It's too bad. Anyhow, Tilgin's got the part down . . .
finally, and it wouldn't sound the same with you as bari-
tone," Brolly went on.

78

"Baritone?" Piemur's voice broke in surprise and, when
he saw the disappointment on his friends' faces, he started
to laugh. "Well, maybe, and then, maybe not."

"Now you sound like Piemur," said Bonz, shouting with

emphasis.

Isolated as he'd been in the drumheights, Piemur had
easily managed to forget the fast approaching feast at Lord
Groghe's and the performance of Domick's new music.
Two sevendays had passed since the Benden Hatching, and
he'd been too engrossed with his own problems to give
much attention to extraneous matters. His friends now un-
derlined the nearness of the Feast, and he was sure that he
couldn't escape attending it and wondered how he could.
He'd prefer to be out of Fort Hold altogether on the night
of the performance because, sure as eggs cracked, he'd have
to go to it.

Then it occurred to him that he hadn't been on any trips
with Sebell and Menolly lately. He forced himself to laugh
and joke with his friends in a fair imitation of his old self,
but once back in the drumheights, while he stood his after-
noon watch, he began to wonder if he'd done something
wrong at Benden Weyr or Igen Hold. Or if, by any freak
chance, Dirzan's tittle-tattle had affected Menolly's opin-
ion of him. Come to think o£ it, he hadn't seen Sebell at all

of late.

The next morning, when he was feeding the fire lizards
with her, he asked her where the journeyman was.

"Between you and me," she said in a low voice, having
seen Camo occupied with the greedy Auntie One, "he's up
in the Ranges. He should be back tonight. Don't worry,
Piemur," she said, smiling. "We haven't forgotten you."
Then she gave him a very searching look. "You haven't
been worried, have you?"

"Me? No, why should I worry?" He gave a derisive
snort. "I put my time to good use. I know more drum mea-
sures than any of those dimwits, for all they've been muck-
ing about up there for Turns!"

Menolly laughed. "Now you sound more like yourself.
You're all right with Master Olodkey then?"

"Me? Sure!" Which, Piemur felt, was not stretching the
truth. He was fine with Master Olodkey because he rarely
came in contact with the man.

79

"And that rough lad, Clell, he's not come back at you
for the other day, has he?"

"Menolly," said Piemur, taking a stern tone -with her,
"I'm Piemur. No one gets back at me. What gave you such
a notion?" He sounded as scornful as he could.

"Hmmmm, just that you haven't been as—well . . ."
and she smiled half-apologetically. "Oh, never mind. I ex-
pect you can take care of yourself any time, anywhere."

They continued feeding the Ere lizards, and Piemur
wished heartily that he could tell Menolly the real state of
affairs in the drumheights. But what good would it do?
She could only speak to Dirzan, who would never accept
Piemur for any reason. Asking Dirzan to discipline the
other apprentices for what was only stupid petty narking
wouldn't help. Piemur could see clearly now that his well-
founded reputation for mischief and game playing were
coming back at him when he least expected, or even less,
deserved it. He'd no one but himself to fault, so he'd just
have to chew it raw and swallow! After all, once his voice
settled, he'd be out of the drumheights. He could put up
with it because he'd have the odd Gather out with Sebell
and Menolly.

SO

Chapter 5

That afternoon a. drum message came in from the north,
Piemur was in the main room diligently copying drum
measures that Dirzan had set him to learn by evening, al-
though he already knew them off rhythm perfect. He
translated the message as it throbbed in.

"Urgent. Reply required please. Nabol." To himself Pie-
mur smiled as the rest of the message pounded on, because
he had the sudden suspicion that the Nabol drummer had
begun with those measures to soften the arrogance of the
main message. "Lord Meron of Nabol demands the imme-
diate appearance of Master Oldive. Reply Instantly." Had
the drummer added "grave illness," the signal "urgent"
would have been appropriate.

Piemur continued his copying smoothly, aware of the
eyes of the other apprentices on him. Let them think that
he understood little beyond the Erst three measures, which
was about all they'd know.

Rokayas, the journeyman on duty, came into the room a
moment later.

"Who's running messages today?" he asked, the thin,
folded sheaf of the transcribed message in his hand.

The others all pointed to Piemur, who immediately put
his pen down and rose to his feet. The journeyman
frowned.

"You were on yesterday."

"I'm on today again, Rokayas," said Piemur cheerfully
and reached for the sheaf.

"Seems to me you're always on," Rokayas said, holding
the message away from Piemur as he glared suspiciously at
the others.

"Dirzan said I was messenger until he said otherwise,"
said Piemur, shrugging as if it were a matter of indiffer-
ence to him.

82

"All right, then," and the journeyman surrendered the
message, still eyeing the other four boys, "but it seems
queer to me you're always running!"

"I'm newest," said Piemur and left the room. He was
rather pleased that Rokayas had noticed. Actually he
didn't mind because he got a brief respite from the sour
presence of the other apprentices.

He dashed down the three flights of steps in his usual
fashion, one hand lightly on the stone rail, plummeting
down as fast as he could go. He burst out into the court-
yard, automatically glancing about. The raking team was
at work. He waved cheerfully to the section leader and
then took the main steps to the Hall three at a time. His
legs must be getting longer, he thought, or he was improv-
ing his stride because he used to be able to leap only two.

Slightly puffed, he tapped politely at Master Oldive's
door and handed over the message, wheeling instantly so
that no one could say he'd seen the message.

"Hold a moment, young Piemur," said Master Oldive,
unfolding the sheaf and frowning as he read its contents.
"Urgent, is it? Well, it could be, at that. Though why they
wouldn't in courtesy send their watch dragon. . . . Ah
well. Nabol hasn't one, has it? Reply that I'll come, and
please ask Master Olodkey to pass the word to T'ledon that
I must prevail on his good nature for passage to Nabol! I
shall go straight to the meadow to wait for him."

Piemur repeated the message, using Master Oldive's ex-
act phrasing and intonation. Released by the healer, he sped
back across the court with another wave to the section
leader. He was halfway up the second flight when he felt
his right foot slide on the stone. He tried to catch himself,
but his forward motion and the stretch of his legs were
such that he hadn't a hope of saving himself from a fall.
He tried to grab the stone railing with his right hand but
it, too, was slick. He was thrown hard against the stone
risers, wrenching thighs and hips, cracking his ribs pain-
fully as he slid. He could have sworn that he heard a muf-
fled laugh. His last conscious thought as his chin hit the
stone and he bit his tongue hard was that someone had
greased the rail and steps.

His shoulder was roughly shaken, and he heard Dirzan's
irritated command to wake-up.

82

"What are you doing here? Why didn't you return Im-
mediately with Master Oldive's request? He's been waiting
in the meadow. You can't even be trusted to run mes-
sages!"

Piemur tried to form an excuse, but only a groan issued
from his Ups as he groggily tried to right himself. He was
dimly conscious of aches and pains all over his left side and
sore stiffness across his cheek and under his skin.

"Fell on the steps, did you? Knocked yourself out,
huh?" Dirzan was unsympathetic, but he was less rough-
handed as he helped Piemur turn and sit on the bottom
step.

"Greased," Piemur mumbled, waving with one hand at
the steps while with the other he cushioned his aching head
to reduce the pounding in his skull. But every place he
touched his head seemed to ache, too, and the agony was
making him ill to his stomach.

"Greased! Greased?" Dirzan exclaimed in acid disbelief.
"A likely notion. You're always pelting up and down these
steps. It's a wonder you haven't hurt yourself before now.
Can't you get up?"

Piemur started to shake his head, but the slightest mo-
tion made him feel sick to his stomach. If he had to spew
in front of Dirzan, he'd be doubly humiliated. And if he
tried to move, he knew he would be ill.

"You said it -was greased?" Dirzan's voice came from
above his head. The agitated tone hurt Piemur's skull.

"Step there and handrail . . ." Piemur gestured with
one hand.

"There's not a sign of grease! On your feet!" Dirzan
sounded angrier than ever.

"Did you find him, Dirzan?" Rokayas called. The voice
of the duty journeyman made Piemur's head throb like a
message drum. "What happened to him?"

"He fell down the steps and knocked himself between."
Dirzan was thoroughly disgusted. "Get up, Piemur!"

"No, Piemur, stay where you are," said Rokayas, and his
voice was unexpectedly concerned.

Piemur wished he wouldn't shout, but he was very will-
ing to stay where he was. The nausea in his belly seemed to
be echoed by his head, and he didn't dare so much as open
his eyes. Things whirled even with them shut.

83

"He said it was greased! Feel it yourself, Royakas, Clean
as a drum!"

"Too clean! And if Piemur fell on his way back, he was
between a long time. Too long for a mere slip. We'd better
get him to Silvina."

"To Silvina? Why bother her for a little tumble? He's
only skinned his chin."

Rokayas' hands were gently pressing against his skull
and neck, then his arms and legs. He couldn't suppress a
yelp when a particular painful bruise was touched.

"This wasn't a little tumble, Dirzan. I know you don't
like the boy . . . but any fool could see he's hurt. Can
you stand, Piemur?"

Piemur groaned, which was all he dared to do or his
dinner would come up.

"He's faking to get out of duty," Dirzan said.

"He's not faking, Dirzan. And another thing, he's done
too much of the running. Clell and the others haven't
moved their butts out of the drumheights the last two
sevendays I've been on duty."

"Piemur's the newest. You know the rule—"

"Oh, leave off, Dirzan. And take him from the other
side. I want to carry him as flat as possible."

With Dirzan's grudging assistance, they carried him
down the stairs, Piemur fighting against his nausea. He
was only dazedly aware that Rokayas shouted for someone
to fetch Silvina and be quick.

They were maneuvering him up the steps to the Main
Hall, toward the infirmary, when Silvina intercepted
them, asking quick questions, to which she got simultane-
ous answers from Dirzan and Rokayas.

"He fell down the stairs," said Rokayas.

"Nothing but a tumble," said Dirzan, overriding the
other man. "Kept Master Oldive standing in the mea-
dow . . ."

Silvina's hands felt cool on his face, moved gently over
his skull.

"He knocked himself between, Silvina, probably for a
good twenty minutes or more," Rokayas was saying, his
urgent tone cutting through Dirzan's petulant complaint.

"He claimed there was grease!"

S4




"There was grease," said Silvina. "Look at his right shoe,
Dirzan. Piemur, do you feel nauseated?"

Piemur made an affirmative sound, hoping that he could
suppress the urge to spew until he was in the infirmary, even
as a small spark of irreverence suggested that here was a
superb opportunity to get back at Dirzan with no possible
repercussions.

"He's jarred his skull, all right. Smart of you to carry
him prone, Rokayas. Here, now, set him down on this bed.
No, you fool, don't sit him. . . ."

The tipping of his body upward triggered the nausea,
and Piemur spewed violently onto the floor. Miserable at
such a lack of control, Piemur was also powerless to pre-
vent the heaving that shook him. Then he felt Silvina's
hand supporting his head, was aware that a basin was ap-
propriately in position. Silvina spoke in a soothing tone,
half-supporting his trembling body as he continued to
vomit. He was thoroughly exhausted and trembling when
the spasms ended and he was eased back against a pile of
pillows and could rest his aching head.

"I take it that Master Oldive has already gone off to
Nabol?"

"How did you know where he went?" demanded Dir-
zan, irritably astonished.

"You are a proper idiot, Dirzan. I haven't lived in the
Harper Hall all my life without being able to understand
drum messages quite well! Not to worry," she said, and
now her fingertips were delicately measuring Piemur's
skull inch by inch. "I can't feel a crack or split. He may
have done no more than rattle his brains. Rest, quiet and
time will cure that thumping. Yes, Master Robinton?"

Silvina's hands paused as she tucked the sleeping fur
about Piemur's chin.

"Piemur's been hurt?" The Harper's voice was anxious.

As Piemur turned to one elbow, to acknowledge the
Harper's entrance, Silvina's hands forced him back against
the piled pillows.

"Not seriously, I'm relieved to say, but let's all leave the
room. I'd like a word with these journeymen in your pres-
ence, Master Robin—"

The door closed, and Piemur fought between the over-

S!

•whelming desire to sleep and curiosity about what she had
to say to Dirzan and Rokayas in front of the Masterhar-
per. Sleep conquered.

Once she'd closed the door, Silvina gave vent to the an-
ger she'd held in since she'd first glimpsed the gray pallor
of Piemur's face and heard Dirzan's nasal complaints.

"How could you let matters get so out of hand, Dir-
zan?" she demanded, whirling on the astonished journey-
man. "What sort of prank is that for apprentices to try on
anyone? Piemur's not been himself, but I put that down to
losing his voice and adjusting to the disappointment over
the music. But this . . . this is ... criminal!" Silvina
brandished Piemur's begreased boot at Dirzan, backing the
astonished journeyman against the wall, oblivious to Master
Robinton's repeated query about Piemur's condition, to
Menolly's precipitous arrival, her face flushed and fur-
rowed with anxiety, and to Rokayas' delighted and amused
observation.

"Enough, Silvina!" The Masterharper's voice was loud
enough to quell her momentarily, but she turned to him
with an injunction to keep his voice down. Please!

"I will," said the Harper in a moderate tone, keeping
Silvina turned toward him, and away from the subject of
her ire, "if you will tell me what happened to Piemur."

Silvina let out an exasperated breath, glared once more
at Dirzan and then answered Master Robinton.

"His skull isn't cracked, though how it wasn't I'll never
know," and she exhibited the glistening sole of Piemur's
boot, "with stair treads coated with grease. He's bruised,
scraped and shaken, and he's definitely suffering from
shock and concussion. . . ."

"When will he recover?" There was an urgency behind
the Harper's voice that Silvina heard. Now she gave him a
long keen look.

"A few days' rest will see him right, I'm sure. But I
mean rest!" She crossed her hands in a whipping motion to
emphasize her verdict, then pointed to the closed infirmary
door. "Right there! Nowhere near those murdering louts in
the drumheights!"

"Murdering?" Dirzan gasped an objection to her term.

"He could have been killed. You know how Piemur

86

climbs steps," she said, scowling fiercely at the journey-
man.

"But . . . but there wasn't a trace of grease on those
steps or the railing. I tested them all myself!"

"Too clean," said Rokayas, and earned a reprimanding
glare from Dirzan. "Too clean!" Rokayas repeated and
then said to Silvina. "Piemur's decidedly odd man. He
learns too quickly."

"And spouts off what he hears!" Dirzan spoke sharply,
determined that Piemur should share the responsibility for
this untoward incident.

"Not Piemur," Silvina and Menolly said in one breath.

Dirzan sputtered a moment. "But there've been several
very private messages that were all over the Hall, and
everyone knows how much Piemur talks, what a conniver
he is!"

"Conniver, yes," said Silvina just as Menolly drew
breath to defend her friend. "Blabberer, no. He's not been
saying more than please and thank you lately either. I've
noticed. And I've noticed some other things happening to
him that ought not to have! No mere pranks for the new
lad in the craft, either!"

Dirzan moved uneasily under her intense stare and
looked appealingly toward the Masterharper.

"How much of drum message has Piemur learned in his
time with you?" asked the Harper, no expression in voice
or face other than polite inquiry.

"Well, now, he does seem to have picked up every mea-
sure I've set him. In fact," and Dirzan admitted this reluc-
tantly, "he has quite a knack for it. Though, of course, he's
not done more than beat the woods or listen with the
journeyman on duty." He glanced at Rokayas for support.

"I'd say Piemur knows more than he admits," said Ro-
kayas in a droll tone, grinning when Dirzan began to
mouth a denial.

"It'd be like Piemur," said Menolly with a grin and
then, touching Silvina's arm, "does he need someone with
him right now?"

"Rest and quiet is what he needs, and I'll look in on him
every little while."

"Rocky could stay," Menolly said. The little bronze fire

S7




lizard pat in an immediate appearance, cluttering wor-
riedly to find himself in such an unexpected place.

"I won't deny that would be sensible," said Silvina,
glancing at the closed door. "Yes, that would be very wise,
I think."

Everyone watched as Menolly, stroking Rocky gently,
told him that he should stay with Piemur and let her know
when he spoke. Then she opened the door just enough to
admit the little fire lizard, watched as Rocky settled him-
self quietly by Piemur's feet, his glistening eyes on the
boy's pale face.

"Rokayas, would you help Menolly collect Piemur's
things from the drumheights?" asked the Harper. His
voice was mild, his manner unexceptional but, unmistak-
ably his attitude informed Dirzan that he had mis-
judged Piemur's standing in the eyes of the most import-
ant 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, Rob-
inton turned again to Silvina, showing all the anxiety and
concern he had kept hidden.

"Now, don't you worry, Robinton!" Silvina said, pat-
ting 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 man-
ner 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 whsipered!"

"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 trou-
ble 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 Sil-
vina knew that she'd restored his perspective of the unfor-
tunate 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 cor-
ner of his expressive mouth twitching with irritation and
an inner perplexity.

"The man's dying. Not 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, Sil-
vina."

"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 Mer-
on'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 inge-
nuity. "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?"

Robmton gave a quick negative shake of his head. "Sev-
eral disquieting rumors have come to my notice. The

90

most worrying, the fact that Nabol abounds with fire
lizards . . ."

"N&bol 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 deli-
cacies of Nerat, Tiliek 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 Na-
bo! . . . 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! Mal-
ice! 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 insatia-
ble 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 sugges-
tively.

Robinton brushed aside the notion. "I hear that a Gath-
er'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 up-
swing of tone, eyeing Silvina hopefully.

91

"The boy'll be fit enough for a Gather, and undoubt-
edly 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 hu-
mor in his voice, "with both Shonagar and Domick spend-
ing every waking moment with him?"

92

Chapter 6

Piemur drifted in and out of sleep for the rest of that day
and most of the next, immeasurably reassured and com-
forted 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 stu-
pid enough to fall and hurt himself just when the Harper
needed him. For that was how Piemur construed the Har-
per'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 Se-
bell 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.

91

"Indeed and there was!" Silvlna 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 Sil-
vina had laced that broth with something. Wouldn't sur-
prise 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. He
could hear the normal sounds of shouting and calling, 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 re-
turned. 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

94

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 per-
plexity, "... 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 appren-
ticed 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 Dir-
zan . . . 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 any-
how."

"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. . . ."

95

"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 border's boy!"

"Herder's boy?"

"Why not? Kum in handy, like, tha' knowin' the way
from tha' bluid, like." As Sebell affected the speech man-
nerisms 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 empha-
sis. 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 that this isn't going to be an energetic adventure for
you. Even heads as hard as yours must be treated with cau-
tion 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

96

r

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 accusa-
tions. 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 liz-
ards 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 with-
out.' 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 foul-
Turns ago, so they could have clutched at least once, possi-
bly twice. And he'd've made certain he had control of the
distribution of those new eggs. Nonetheless, he has distrib-
uted 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 . . . disappearingi

"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 per-
sons, 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 Ben den Weyr by
trafficking in any way with the Oldtimers; and an in-

97

tense excitement at the possibility that he, Piemur, might
help discredit further this infamous Lord Holder.

"Those are two of the main things to listen for. The
third, which is the most important in some ways, is which
of Lord Meron's male heirs would be most acceptable to
craft and cot."

"He is dying then?" He'd been sure that the message to
Master Oldive was spurious.

"Oh, yes, a wasting disease." Sebell's grin was malicious,
and there was an unpleasant gleam in his eyes as he met
Piemur's astonished gaze. "You might say, a very proper
disease to fit Lord Meron's . . . peculiar ways!"

Piemur would have liked to have particulars, but Sebell
rose.

"I must be away now, Piemur. You're to rest, without
getting into any mischief."

"Rest? I've been resting—"

"Bored? Well, I'll ask Rokayas to give you drum mea-
sures to learn. That ought to ease your boredom without
taxing your strength." Sebell laughed at Piemur's snort of
dismay.

"As long as it's Rokayas."

"It will be. He's of the mind that you learned a great
deal more than Dirzan believes."

Piemur grinned at the subtle question in Sebell's words,
but before he could retort, the door was closing behind the
journeyman and Kimi, who fluttered above him. Piemur
hugged his knees to his chest, rocking slowly on his tail
bones as he thought over all that Sebell had confided to
him. And tried to figure out what it was Sebell hadn't
told him.

One thing Sebell hadn't mentioned was how cold and how
dark it would be when N'ton collected him before dawn.
Menolly with Beauty and Rocky had roused him from a
fitful sleep, for he'd been afraid he'd oversleep and conse-
quently spent a restless night. He could sense Menolly's
amusement as the two of them, guided by the encouraging
chirrups of the fire lizards, stumbled across the dark
courtyard toward the Gather meadow. Then Lioth turned
his brilliant jewel-faceted eyes in their direction, and they
moved more confidently forward.

98

Menolly giggled as she boosted Piemur up to catch the
fighting straps, and then he felt N'ton's downstretched
hand and was aided into position. He heard her softly wish
him luck, then she blended into the shadows, her actual
position discernible only by four points of light that were
fire lizard eyes.

"D'you want the fighting strap about you, Piemur?
Night flying unnerves a lot of people."

Piemur wanted to say yes, but instead took a good hold
on the leathers that encircled Lioth's neck. He replied that
since this was only a short trip, he wouldn't need them.
Then clutched convulsively as Lioth sprang upward. They
were above the rim of Fort Hold's fireheights before Pie-
mur caught his breath. N'ton gave the bronze dragon the
audible command to Nabol, and Piemur knew he screamed
into the nothingness of between. He choked off the noise
as he felt the change from intense cold and blackness to
frosty chill and the faint lightening in what must be the
eastern sky.

Two whirling points of light danced above N'ton's left
shoulder, and a fire lizard's complacent chirp informed
Piemur that N'ton's bronze, Tris, had turned to look at
him. Then Lioth swerved and Piemur's fingers became
numb as he increased the pressure on the straps, uncon-
sciously leaning backward against the angle of descent into
darkness. Tris chirruped encouragingly, as if he were com-
pletely aware of Piemur's internal confusion. Piemur
prayed fervently that Tris wouldn't inform N'ton of how
scared he was. Abruptly the bronze dragon backwinged
and settled with the lightest of bumps in black shadow.

"Lioth says there are people not far down the road, Pie-
mur," said N'ton in a low voice. "Give me your flying
gear."

"Isn't it Sebell?" asked Piemur, shedding helmet and
jacket and thrusting them blindly toward N'ton.

"Lioth says no, but Sebell is not far behind. He hears
Kimi."

"Kimi?" Piemur's surprise made him speak louder than
he intended, and he winced at N'ton's warning.

"You forget," whispered N'ton, "Sebell can bring Kimi
because fire lizards are so common here in Nabol. Or so
we're led to understand." Displeasure colored the Fort

99

Weyrleader's amendment. Then Piemur felt the strong
gloved hand curl about his wrist, and he obediently threw
his right leg back over Lioth's neckridge, sliding down the
massive shoulder, aware as he slipped beyond N'ton's guid-
ing hand, that the dragon had cocked his leg to allow an
easier slope of descent. He let his knees take the shock of his
landing and patted Lioth's shoulder, wondering as he did
so if that were bold of him.

"Good luck, Piemur!" N'ton's muted voice just reached
his ears.

He stepped back, turning his head against the shower of
dust and sand as the huge bronze launched himself sky-
ward.

Once his eyes were accustomed to the variations of black
and dark gray, Piemur located the winding road and whis-
tled softly as be realized how accurately the dragon had
landed in the one flat area big enough to accommodate
him. Piemur's respect for draconic abilities rose to new
heights.

He heard now the occasional sound of voices and saw
the erratic wavering of light from the glowbaskets of the
leading file. A creaking of wheeled carts and the familiar
sluff-sluff of plate-footed burden beasts reached his ears.
He looked about him for a place to hide. He had a choice
of boulders and ledges, and found a shielded spot that
faced the track but gave him a clear view of the dimly
seen exit. He curled up small, hugging knees to chest, se-
cure in the belief that he couldn't be seen.

A chirrup disabused him of that notion and, startled, he
glanced up and saw three pairs of fire lizard eyes gleaming
at him.

"Go away, you silly creatures. I'm not even here!" To
prove this, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the aw-
ful nothingness of between.

The fire lizards responded with an agitated chorus.

"What's the matter with them?" a gruff male voice
called over the creaking of cartwheels and the shuffling
sound of the burden beasts.

"Who knows? Who cares? We'm most to Nabol now!"
Piemur redoubled his efforts to think of nothing, and
heard the faint flutter of fire lizards taking flight. To
think of nothing took more effort than to concentrate on

200

something. A great many carts, too, Piemur thought, for a
Nabol Gather when there was another, better one at Fort
Hold. He opened his eyes now and saw the flicker of
•winging fire lizards in the gathering daylight, and the
point-lights of their eyes in gloom. And these were carters?
Small holders? The anger that injustice roused warmed Pie-
mur long after the caravan and the comfort of their glow-
baskets passed from his angle of vision.

The cold dawn wind rose, and Piemur wished that Se-
bell would put in his promised appearance. He ought to
have asked N'ton if Lioth had seen Sebell as he glided to
his landing. Then Piemur chided himself that this was
scarcely the first time he'd waited on his lonesome in the
dark of dawn. He'd done his watches with his father's
herds. Of course, there'd usually been someone sleeping in
the cot within voice range during those long, slow hours.
What if something had happened to Sebell? Or he was de-
layed? Should Piemur go on to Nabol by himself? And
how was he to return to the Harper Hall? He'd forgotten
to ask N'ton that, presuming it was the Port Weyrleader
who'd collect him. Or was he to be collected? Did Sebell
plan to sell those suitable beasts of his during the Gather?
Or would they have to herd them back whence they'd
come? There was a great deal that Sebell hadn't told him
in spite of the journeyman's candid explanation about their
surreptitious appearance at Nabol Hold.

Piemur relieved his anxieties by remembering that he
wasn't going to have to attend the Fort Hold festivities, or
listen to Tilgin sing music that Domick had written for
him. He sighed, depressed that he wasn't going to be sing-
ing the role of Lessa, that he wasn't still comfortably in his
bed in the senior apprentices' dormitory, waking to antici-
pate the applause of Lord Groghe's guests, the accolades of
his friends and Domick. And quite likely Lessa's approval,
since the Weyrwoman was Lord Groghe's special guest to-
day.

Here he was, cold, miserable, and uncomfortably aware
that he hadn't had so much as a cold cup of klah before he
was bundled onto a dragon's back and dumped here to
await a man who might not arrive for hours if he was
walking a herd of beasts in from Ruatha Hold all by him-
self!

101

And when they found out what they'd come to discover
and returned to the Harper Hall, what would Piemur do
tomorrow?

He grinned, hugging his knees in smug satisfaction, re-
membering Rokayas' surprise the day before when he had
perfectly dead-sticked the complicated message Rokayas had
thought up to test his knowledge of the drum language.
Piemur was almost sorry he wouldn't be—

He groped on the ground beside him and found a rock,
gave it an experimental whack against the boulder that
sheltered him. The resultant sound echoed about the small
valley. Piemur found another rock and, rising, went to the
now visible track. He beat the rocks together in the mono-
tone code for "harper," adding the best for "where," grin-
ning as the sharp staccato sounds reverberated. He repeated
the two measures, then waited. He beat his measures again
to give Sebell time to find his own rocks. Then in the
pause he heard distantly a muffled reply: "journeyman
comes."

Immeasurably relieved, Piemur was wondering whether
to proceed down the track and intercept Sebell when he
heard a "stay" as the message was repeated. He was a bit
daunted by the "stay" and restlessly scuffed at the loose
gravel on the track. Surely Sebell wasn't far away. What
did it matter if Piemur did go to meet him? But the mes-
sage had been clear—"stay"—and Piemur decided that
Sebell must have a reason, other than obedience to Master
Oldive's instruction about Piemur's dented head.

Sullenly, Piemur resumed his position behind the boul-
der. And none too soon. He heard then the sharp clatter of
hooves against stone, the jangle of metal against metal, and
a rumble of encouraging shouts. A fair of fire lizards ar-
rowed out of the graying southern skies, heading straight
up the track. Piemur thought of cold between's nothing-
ness, as the fire lizards, intent on keeping ahead of the
swiftly pacing riders, swept on. The ground beneath Pie-
mur's rump trembled with the runners' passage.

There was so much dust raised that Piemur couldn't be
sure how many rode by, but he estimated a dozen or more.
A dozen riders with a full fair of fire lizards escorting
them?

102




Again anger consumed Piemur. He knew that he
wouldn't have resented this latest concentration of fire liz-
ards, obviously companioning holders prosperous enough to
own fast pacers, if the earlier caravan hadn't been just as
well favored with the creatures. It wasn't fair. He agreed
wholeheartedly with Lord Oterel! There were many, too
many fire lizards abroad in Nabol.

He was so incensed over such inequity, since the caravan-
ers obviously hadn't appreciated the capabilities of the lit-
tle creatures, that at first he didn't hear the shiwff-shlwff
of the approaching herd.

Kimi's quizzical cheep nearly frightened him out of his
wits. She cheeped again, apologetically, and her eyes
whirled a little faster as she peered at him from the top of
the boulder.

"Well?" asked Sebell, appearing around one side. "You
took me too literally."

"They all have fire lizards," cried Piemur, too indignant
to make polite greeting.

"Yes, I had noticed."

"I don't mean that lot," and Piemur jerked his thumb in
the direction of the riders. "There was a caravan that had
two or three full fairs—"

"Did they see you?" asked Sebell, suddenly wary.

"The fire lizards did, but no human paid any attention
to their alert!" Then Piemur caught sight of the beasts that
Sebell had herded and whistled.

"So? They meet with your approval?"

The leader had ambled past, eyes half-closed against the
dust, and the rest, nose to the tail in front, with eyes fully
closed, followed. Piemur counted five: all were well-
fleshed, with good, thick, furry hides, moving steadily
without a stumble, which meant their feet were sound.

"You'll sell them all right," said Piemur.

"Happen Ah will!" said Sebell in proper accent and,
passing his arm about Piemur's shoulders, urged him ahead
of the herd. "Here," and Sebell passed Piemur a padded
flask. "It should still be hot. I only broke camp when Kimi
told me Lioth had flashed by."

Piemur mumbled his gratitude for the klah, which was
hot enough to warm his belly. Then Sebell handed Piemur

203

a dried meat roll of the sort that was standard journey
rations, and Piemur began to view the imminent day in a
much improved frame of mind.

As soon as he'd finished eating, he voluntarily dropped
back to the apprentice's uncomfortable position at the end
of the single file. He'd be properly coated with dust by the
time they arrived at Nabol Hold.

The first thing Piemur did when they got to the Gather
meadow was head toward the nearest watering trough,
fighting against his thirsty charges for a space at the edge.
He also remembered exactly where to pinch their noses to
make them turn from him.

"Ar, lad, let th'beasts drink deep farst!" Sebell uncere-
moniously hauled him away, his voice angry, though his
eyes twinkled as he warned Piemur to play the proper part.

"Ar, sor, tongue that dry can't move."

Two young boys were approaching the trough with pails,
but they waited, as custom dictated, until the beasts had
drunk their fill and the cold mountain water flowed clear
again. Piemur and Sebell then herded their charges toward
the area of the meadow set aside for animal sales. The Hold
Steward, a pinch-faced man with a runny nose, all but
pounced on them, demanding the Gather fee. Sebell imme-
diately protested the amount, and the two set to haggling.
Sebell brought the fee down a full mark before he surren-
dered his token, but he didn't protest when the Steward
waved them contemptuously toward the smallest enclosure
at the end of the rank. Piemur was about to object when
Sebell's hand closed warningly on his shoulder. Looking at
the journeyman in surprise, Piemur saw the imperceptible
jerk of his head over his shoulder. Piemur waited a few
discreet seconds and then casually glanced about him.
Three men had started to follow them toward their allot-
ted space. A thrill of fear made Piemur catch his breath
until he recognized the unmistakable herder gait and knew
these were prospective buyers.

"Tol'ya Ah'd suitable beasts, di' Ah no?" drawled Sebell
under his breath.

"Ar, an yull drink th' profit again, like as not," replied
Piemur in a sullen tone, but his shoulders shook with the
effort to control his amusement. He hadn't a single doubt
in his mind that Sebell would also play the happy drunken

104

herdsman to perfection. And manage to say without of-
fense what would be impossible for a sober man anyplace.

They got the beasts enclosed, and Piemur was sent with
a worn mark of the Herdsman's Crafthall to haggle for
fodder. He managed to save an eighth on the dealing,
which he pocketed as any apprentice would. Sebell was al-
ready deep in bargain with one of the men while the others
were examining the beasts with pinch and prod. Piemur
wondered where under the sun Sebell had managed to ac-
quire such proper mountain-bred creatures, with rock-
worn hooves and shaggy coats. He could no more account
for the good flesh on them after this long winter than the
prospective buyers, so he hunkered down and listened to
Sebell's explanation.

Trust a harper to weave words well, and Piemur's re-
spect for the journeyman increased proportionately to the
elaborations of the tale he told. Sebell would have his audi-
ence believe that he merely used an old trick handed down
from grandsire to grandson: a combination of herbs and
grasses sweetened with just the right amount of berries and
well-moistened dried fruits. He also said that he and his
did without sometimes to improve their beasts, and Piemur
promptly sucked in his cheeks to look suitably haggard. He
saw the eyes of the men linger on his bruises, showing yel-
low on his chin and cheek, while Sebell rambled on about
his holders scrambling up and down the southern face of
his hold hill to find the sweet new grasses that produced
such spectacular results.

The earnest knot of listeners attracted more who stood
respectfully back but close enough to hear. What Piemur
couldn't figure out was that, while the beasts had very old
marks of Ruathan breeding, the secondary marks were also
well-worn. Then he was annoyed with himself: Sebell
must have pulled this sort of stunt before. Undoubtedly
somewhere in Ruatha was a cotholder who kept a few spe-
cial beasts for the Harper Hall's convenience. He began to
relax and enjoy Sebell's tale-spinning thoroughly.

The sun was well over the mountains by the time Sebell
had struck hands on the bargains—for there were three.
One man bought three of the beasts, and the others one
apiece, at what Piemur knew was a bloody good price. He
wondered if that had covered their original purchases and

105

their keep. Appropriately sober-faced during the bargain-
ing, Sebell permitted pleasure to glow on his dirt-smeared
face as he carefully stowed the mark pieces in his belt
pouch while the beasts were prodded away by their new
owners.

"Didn't think I'd make that much, but the trick al-
ways works!" said Sebell in a low mutter to Piemur.

"Trick?"

"Sure," said Sebell softly as he patted dust from his
clothing. "Arrive dusty, early, with the well-fleshed beasts,
and they're on to you fast, hoping you're tired enough to
be stupid."

"Where did you get 'em?"

Sebell flashed Piemur a grin. "Craft secret. Get along
with you now," and he gave Piemur a wink and a rough
shove. "See t'Gather!" he added in a louder tone. "Ah find
thee when Ah wish to go."

This wasn't much of a Gather, Piemur decided when
he'd done one round of the small nestle of stalls. They
didn't even have bubbly pies at the baker's, and the Craft-
halls had obviously sent very junior men to represent them.
Still, a Gather was a day to be enjoyed, and not many were
held at Nabol even -when restdays were Thread-clear, so
the Nabolese were making as much of the occasion as they
could.

The wineman was doing a brisk trade by the time Pie-
mur returned that way. He squatted at the corner of the
stand, munching slowly away at another meatroll, listening
to comments and noticing with deep chagrin and a grow-
ing wrath how many fire lizards flitted about, resting for
a moment on the stall tops, wheeling up in fairs to dance in
the air a bit before settling on their friends' shoulders or on
a new position where they could overlook. At first Piemur
tried to convince himself that he was only seeing the same
group again and again. He did notice that most were
greens with a sprinkling of brown and blues—the lesser
fire lizards. When he saw bronzes, they were always on the
shoulder or arm of the more prosperously dressed. Yet no
matter how Piemur argued the matter in his mind, it was
clear that Nabol Hold boasted more fire lizards than he
had seen even at Benden Weyr during the Impression.

106

Suddenly a phrase stood out from the murmurous con-
versation about the winestand.

"There'll be a few more happy holidays today, I hear!"

Piemur turned to scratch his shoulder fiercely and lo-
cated the man who had spoken from his knowing smirk, a
smith from his clothing. His companion, a miner by his
shoulder badge, was nodding in comprehension.

"Nabol don't take proper care of 'em, he don't. Three
never shelled. My master was fair upset about that. Means
to have three more today or his name's not Kaljan."

"Is that so?" The smith bobbed his head up and down to
show regret. "We'd one that didn't hatch, too, but no joy
did we get above! Eggs we was promised and eggs we was
given. Up to us to care for 'em proper enough to make 'em
hatch. That one," and his head jerked toward the Hold
cliff to indicate Lord Meron, "enjoys putting a snake
among the wherries!" He snorted derisively. "Happen it's
his only pleasure now."

Both men guffawed with malicious delight.

"Happen we'll not need to worry about him much
longer, I hear tell." The smith winked broadly at the
miner.

"Couldn't be soon enough for me. Well, see you at the
dancing?"

"Going so soon?"

"Had my glass. Must get back."

The disappointment in the miner's face made Piemur
think that the smith's departure was precipitous. Going to
tell his master about the eggs that were up at the Hold,
was he? Piemur decided to tag along.

Eggs handed out in quantities, eggs that had been badly
handled and wouldn't hatch. Unless . . . and Piemur re-
flected over something that Menolly had said about fire
lizard eggs. Green fire lizards laid eggs as well, having
been fertilized by a mating flight with a blue or brown,
sometimes even a bronze. But green fire lizards were stu-
pid: they'd lay a clutch, ten at the most, Menolly said,
and leave them with such a shallow covering of beach sand
that they were easy prey to wild wherries or sand snakes.
Very few green-laid clutches survived to Hatch. Which, as
Menolly had succinctly stated, was just as well or Pern
would be up to the eyeballs in little green fire lizards.

707

Piemur wondered if anyone in Nabol realized that a
deception was being practiced on them, and green fire lizard
eggs were what were dispersed so lavishly. Then he realized
that he'd lost sight of the smith and, cursing his inat-
tentiveness, began to retrace his steps, turning with
assumed idleness to peer between the stalls. He spotted the
smith, urgently speaking to a man with a smithmaster's
badge and, as the man reacted to his journeyman's excited
words, his master's chain sparkled. Piemur managed to
duck away as both men suddenly turned toward him.
When they had passed him on their way to the Hold, Pie-
mur fallowed, restlessly scanning faces in the hopes that he
might see Sebell and tell him what he'd overheard. Sebell
might wish to investigate.

As the two smiths turned from the Gather area toward
the Hold, Piemur had to pause or be noticeable. The smiths
strode purposefully up the ramp toward the main Hold
gates. They were challenged by the guard and, after some
moments of arguing, the guard summoned another from
the gatehouse and sent him to the Hold with the smith-
master's message.

While the messenger was gone, two men emerged from
the Hold, well wrapped in their cloaks, though the air had
lost its chill. Something about the way they walked, care-
fully; the way they carried their heads, proudly; the way
they nodded and smiled at the guards, smugly; and most
of all the way they pointedly avoided contact, struck Pie-
mur as significant. He continued to watch them as they
turned toward the Gather meadow. As they approached
him he caught sight of their figures in profile and realized
that each man carried something hidden in his cloak, held
tight against his side. It couldn't have been a large object.
But, thought Piemur, putting expression, manner and pro-
file together, an egg pot wouldn't be large. He wanted to
follow the men to see if his suspicion was correct, but he
also didn't want to leave the Hold until the message from
the smithmaster had been answered.

A new party, holders by the look of them, now made
themselves known to the guards and were admitted, to the
angry chagrin of the smithmaster. Then three carts, heavily
laden to judge by the straining of the burden beasts strug-
gling up the ramp, forced the smithmaster to one side. The

108

guard waved the carts toward the kitchen courtyard. The
last cart jammed a wheel against the ramp parapet, the
driver thudding his stick against the burden beast's rump.

"Wheel be jammed," yelled Piemur, not liking to see any
animal beaten for what was not its fault.

He jumped forward to help guide the carter. The man
now backed his stolid beast, swinging its head left. Piemur,
setting his shoulder to the tailgate, gave a push in the prop-
er direction. He also tried to peek under the covering to
see what on earth was being delivered to the Hold on a
Gather day when most business was done in the Gather
meadow. Before he could get a good look, the cart had
picked up speed as it reached more level ground.

He was past the guards, arguing with the smith and pay-
ing no more attention to the procession of carts. Ducking
quickly to the side of the cart away from the carter, Pie-
mur gained access to the Hold proper.

As the carts rumbled on into the kitchen court, Piemur
rapidly wondered how he could turn this opportunity to
advantage and remain in the Hold after the carters had
unloaded and left. Certainly if he was actually in the
Hold, he might find out more than he could possibly learn
wandering about the Gather. If nothing else he could dis-
cover what the carter had delivered.

Then he spied a line of coveralls bleaching in the spring
sun. He darted over and removed one, ignoring the slight
dampness as he slipped it over his head. Kitchen drudges
were never noted for cleanliness, and once the beast dirt
and stains on his tunic were covered, the dust on his boots
and trousers would be unremarkable.

"Hey, you!" Piemur tried to ignore the call, but it was
repeated and could only be directed to him. He turned
toward the speaker, affecting a stupid expression. "I mean
you, with the empty arms!"

Obediently he trudged back to the carter, who slung a
heavy sack across his back. At that point, the kitchen stew-
ard bustled out to supervise, and Piemur, bent double un-
der the sack, passed him without a glance. The steward
alternated between chivvying his drudges out to help un-
load, and the carter for his ill-timed arrival. The carter
replied with equal heat that he had heavy carts and slow
beasts and had had to give way and eat dust from those

209

hurrying to this bloody Gather. Meron ought to be pleased
he'd got here within the day allotted, much less at an ear-
lier hour.

The steward hushed him and began shouting orders, or-
dering Piemur on to the back storerooms. Piemur got inside
the kitchen, not knowing where the stores rooms were, so,
making a business of wiping his face and easing his shoul-
ders, he waited until someone brushed past him and turned
down the proper corridor.

"Don't know where Ah'm t' put more as is plenty here
a'ready," muttered the drudge as Piemur followed him.

"A-top them others?" suggested Piemur helpfully.

In the dim light of waning glows, the Nabolese peered at
Piemur. "Never saw you afore."

"Nor you haven't," Piemur agreed amiably. "Sent from
t'Hold to help in kitchen for t'Gather."

"Oh!" And the sly gleam in the man's eyes suggested to
Piemur that he had just let himself in for the worst and
dirtiest of the chores about a Hold on a Gather day when
the Lord was feasting guests.

Haste appeared the vital factor in unloading the carts, so
Piemur didn't see many of the seals on the sacks, barrels
and boxes he humped out of sight. But he saw enough to
realize that the delivery came from a variety of sources:

tanner, weaver, smithcraft for the heaviest boxes, wine
from many of the yards, but none, he was pleased to note,
from Benden. When the last bundle was stowed in the
now-bulging stores rooms, Piemur's sigh of relief was
echoed by Besel, the sly drudge, who had managed to stay
close to him during the unloading. Piemur had no sooner
lowered himself to a sack to rest than the man snatched
him to his feet.

"C'mon, we've no time to rest t'day."

Nor did Piemur, who was set first to scrape out ashes
from the secondary hearths and then to gutting beasts and
wild fowl, thankful that he'd watched Camo often enough
at that task to know the tricks. He scoured extra plates,
encrusted with the dirt and grime of Turns, until his fin-
gers shriveled. When he'd done that, and peeled a dragon-
load of tubers, he was allowed a breather so long as he kept
one of the five spits turning.

110

Chaos broke loose when the Hold Steward arrived to in-
form the kitchen that Lord Meron chose to eat in his own
quarters and these were to be prepared while he walked the
Gather.

The kitchen steward obsequiously took the change of or-
der, having only that hour completed the feast arrange-
ments in the Great Hall. The moment the heavy door had
swung shut on the Hold Steward's back, however, he burst
into obscenities that won him Piemur's astounded approval.

If Piemur had thought he'd worked hard already, he was
soon disabused of that notion by the rate at which he was
sent flying about the kitchen to collect cleaning and pol-
ishing tools and preparations. Then he was sent on ahead
with Besel and a woman to start cleaning the Lord's rooms.
Already weary from an early rising and more hard labor
than he'd known since he'd left his native cothold, Piemur
tried to cheer himself by imagining Master Oldive's reac-
tion to his "quiet day" at Nabol Gather.

"Who'd a thought he'd walk t'Gather?" the woman was
saying as they trudged up the steep steps from the main
hall to Meron's apartment,                  i

"Had to. Didncha hear what they be saying at Gather?
Meron dead a'ready and none know his heir. Some as want
to turn Gather Day into Duel Day."

That remark set both Nabolese into cackles of laughter,
and Piemur wondered if he could be ignorant enough of
Hold problems to ask why they were so amused.

"Ah saw 'em comin' in. Ah did," said Besel, again with
that sly, knowing expression on his face. "Ev'ry one of 'em
was with 'im some time t'day, they was. Outsides with him
now, shouldn't wonder."

"He'll have his li'l game wi'em, he will, each thinking
he's been named," said the woman and dug her elbow into
Besel's ribs which sent them both off into malicious laugh-
ter again.

"Hope it's not just us as has to do all the cleaning here,"
Besel said, putting his hand on the door handle. "Hasn't
been done in ... faugh!" He turned his head away,
coughing against the stench that wafted out to them from
the opened door.

As the smell reached Piemur's nostrils, sweet, cloying,

111

sickening, he felt his stomach turn in protest and tried not
to inhale. He hung back, hoping the fresher air of the cor-
ridor would cleanse the room of its stink.

"Here, you get in and open shutters. You're used to
stinking messes, guttingman." Besel grabbed Piemur
roughly by the arm and propelled him violently into the

room.

How Piemur managed not to vomit from the odor of
the room before he reached the shutters and flung them
open, he didn't know. He half-threw his body up the deep
sill, gasping in fresh, cool air.

"Other windows, too, boy," ordered Besel from the
doorway,

Piemur Filed his lungs and opened the other windows,
staying by the last until the chill air dissipated the odors of
decay and illness. And Lord Meron's heirs had had to at-
tend him in this funking atmosphere? Piemur spared them
a moment of sympathy.

Then Besel shouted for him to go into the other rooms
and open them up to air properly. "Else no one'd eat his
food, like as not, and we'm to clean up their messes."

The foul odor hung heaviest in the last of the four large
rooms that comprised the Lord Holder's private apart-
ments in Nabol. It was then that Piemur blessed the hap-
penstance that had sent him in here ahead of the others.
Reposing on the health were nine pots of exactly the size in
which fire lizard eggs were placed to keep warm and
harden. Mastering his urge to gag, Piemur ducked across
the room to investigate. One pot was set slightly apart
from the others and, lifting the lid, Piemur scraped enough
sand away to see the mottled shell before he covered it
carefully over. He took a quick look at the contents of the
first pot in the other group. Yes, the egg was smaller and
of a different hue. He'd wager every mark he owned that
the separate pot contained a fire lizard queen egg.

Quickly he switched pots. Shielding his actions with his
body in case Besel ventured this far to check on him, he
dumped the sand with deft speed into the cinder shovel,
removed the egg and shoved it up under his coverall and
into his shirt above his belt. Poking among the cinders, he
selected one that had a slightly rounded end and neatly
inserted it into the egg pot, replaced sand and lid and

112

stood the rifled pot back in line, straightening up just as
the woman crossed the threshold.

"That's the lad, tend the fire first. And you'll need to
bring up more blackrock from the yard. He likes his
warmth, he does." She cackled again as she roughly pushed
carven chairs out of her way to sweep under the worktable.
"To be sure, he'll feel the cold soon enough, he willl"

Besel joined in her laughter.

The fire was hot as Piemur shook the grate free of ashes,
and his face burned by the time he had cleared the debris.
The heat also warmed the egg, lying against his ribs.

"Hurry it up, you guttingman," said Besel when Piemur
began to lug the heavy ash bucket out. "No slouching, or
I'U take me hand to you." He raised a big fist and Piemur
ducked away, feeling the egg pinch his skin and worried he
might crack it prematurely.

As he strained with the heavy bucket down the long
steps, he wondered how ever was he going to keep the egg
safe. Certainly not on his person. And he'd have to keep it
warm, too. As well as in someplace to which, in his guise as
a lowly guttingman, he'd have easy access.

The solution came to him just as he was about to dump
the ashes. He checked the swing of the bucket and glanced
about the ashpit. Then very carefully, he emptied the ashes
in a pile just to the left of the ashpit opening. Anyone
emptying ashbuckets tended to fling the contents to the
back wall where the cinders spread downward from the
top of the accumulated pile. The molding on either side of
the opening kept ashes from tumbling back into the court-
yard until the pit was full. Its capacity was by no means
reached at this moment. With his booted toe, Piemur made
a small depression in the warm ashes, quickly inserted the
egg, covering it first with warm ashes, then with a coating
of cold cinders to insulate it. Glancing at the sun as he
filled his bucket with fresh blackstone from the dump
next to the ashpit, Piemur saw that the sun was lowering.
Which was a mercy he thought, lugging the blackstone
back into the Hold, because he wondered if he'd manage to
last through the most arduous day of his life.

They'd have the Feast soon; more than likely as soon as
Lord Meron returned to his freshened quarters. What
caused that noxious stink? Certainly not Master Oldive's

11}

medicines, for the healer believed in fresh air and freshen-
ing herbs, which at their worst were pungent but could not
cause the odor in Lord Meron's rooms. No matter. Once
the Lord and his guests were served, the drudges would
get what remained on the serving platters and that would
mean everyone could relax for a while. He could, perhaps,
sneak away then, before Sebell got anxious. And did he
have a lot to tell Sebell!

Half the workers in the Hold were now running up and
down the steps, pursued by the strident voice of the Hold
Steward who had arrived to direct the freshening. Piemur
was promptly given another ashbucket to empty and fill
with blackrock. On his way back through the kitchen this
time, he sneaked a breadroll, which heartened him consider-
ably.

By some miracle, they were just about finished when a
messenger arrived from the guard to say that Lord Meron
and his guests were returning. The Steward shoved and
pushed everyone out, even to the point of collecting aban-
doned cleaning tools. As the last of the drudges scurried
back into the kitchen, the laughter of the returning Gath-
erers was heard at the Hold doors.

Piemur had to assist the cook turn the roast for carving,
and nearly had his fingers sliced thinner when the cook
caught him taking bits that dropped to the table. Then he
had to mash endless kettles of tubers. As fast as a dish was
served up and garnished, it was despatched above. At one
point, Piemur thought he might be sent, but it was decided
he was much too dirty to carry food. Instead he was sent
to the bowels of the Hold for more glowbaskets as Lord
Meron complained that he couldn't see to eat. Piemur had
to make three trips to satisfy the need. By that time, the
platters were coming back to the kitchen. The drudges and
lesser stewards stripped food off as it passed them by. The
kitchen began to quiet as mouths were stuffed too full to
permit speech. Piemur managed to secure a meat-rimmed
bone and, grabbing a handful of the sliced breads, he re-
tired to the darkest comer of the huge room to eat.

He applied himself ravenously to his food, having de-
cided to leave as quickly as possible now. The sun had set
during the furor of serving the feast, so he had the cover
of darkness to retrieve his egg. And he'd have the excuse

114




for the guards, if they stopped him, that he was finished
with his duties. Lord Groghe always gave his drudges time
to attend the Gather dancing. Piemur was looking forward
to encountering Sebell again. He might not have heard
much to the point of which heir the Hold staff preferred,
but he had proof that Lord Meron was getting far more
fire lizard eggs than a small Hold like Nabol ought to re-
ceive; that his stores rooms were full of more supplies than
he and his could ever use in a full pass much less a Turn.

Hungry though he was, Piemur couldn't finish all the
meat on the bone. He was too tired to eat, he thought, and
before he did collapse from exhaustion, he'd better retrieve
the egg and slip out to meet Sebell. How he longed for his
bed at the Harper Hall.

The regular kitchen drudges were too busy grumbling
about the poor selection left for them to eat and how much
those blinking guests were eating and drinking to notice
Piemur's deft exit.

He took possession of the precious egg, warm to the
touch, and wrapping it carefully in a wad of rags, thrust
the bundle once again under his tunic. He jauntily ap-
proached the main gates, whistling deliberately off key.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"T'Gather," Piemur replied as if this was all too obvious.

He was as surprised by the man's guffaw as he was by
being swung around and roughly propelled back the way
he had come.

"Don't try that one on me again, guttingman!" called
the guard as the force of his push sent Piemur stumbling
across the cobbles, trying not to fall and damage the egg.
He stopped in the darkest shadow of the wall and stood
fuming over this unexpected check to his escape. It was
ridiculous! He couldn't think of any other Hold in all
Pern where the drudges were denied the privilege of going
to the Hold's own Gather.

"G'wan back to the ashes, guttingman!"

It was then that Piemur realized his coverall, none too
clean in the light, was still visible in the shadows, so he
slunk past the opening into the kitchen court. Out of sight,
he stripped off the betraying coverall and flung it into a
corner. So he wasn't allowed to leave, was he?

"Well, the guests would have to be passed. He would sim-

ply bide his time and slip out of Nabol Hold the same way
he'd gotten in.

Taking heart in that notion, he looked about him for a
suitable place to wait. He should remain in the courtyards,
where he would hear the commotion of leave-taking. He'd
better not return to the kitchens, or he'd be put to work
again. His roving eye caught the blackness that was the ash
and blackstone pits, and that solved his problem. Keeping
to the shadows, he made his way to this least likely of all
hiding spots and settled on the spongy surface at the right
hand side of the opening to the ashpit. Not the most com-
fortable place to wait, he thought, removing a large cinder
shell from under his tail bone before he achieved some mea-
sure of comfort. The night wind had picked up a bit, and
he felt the chill when he poked his nose over the coping.
Ah well, he shouldn't have long to wait. He doubted any-
one would tolerate Lord Meron's smell longer than abso-
lutely necessary.

He was awakened from a fitful doze by the sound of
shouting and much running about in the main courtyard,
and then a nearer, more frightening clamor in the kitchen
itself. Above the shouts and slammings, he heard a pathetic
wail.

"Ah dunno 'im. Ah tell yuz. First time today Ah saw
*im. Said he was here to help ('Gather, and we needed
help."

Trust Besel to clear himself of any blame, thought Pie-
mur.

"Sir, gate guard says a boy answering his description
tried to pass out to the Gather awhile back. He couldn't
say if the drudge carried anything about him. Wasn't look-
ing for stolen items."

"Then he didn't leave?" The voice was a snarl of fury.

Lord Meron? wondered Piemur. And then realized that
the unexpected had happened. The substitute in the egg
pot had been discovered. There'd be no way he could creep
out of this Hold in the shadow of departing guests. With
the way men were dashing about lighting up every crook
and corner of the courtyards, he'd be lucky to remain un-
discovered. Some eager soul would certainly think to prod
a spear through the ashpit just on the off-chance ...

lie

especially if Besel remembered that he'd emptied ash buckets
and might have hidden the egg there.

Frantic now, Piemur glanced up at the walls about him.
Carved from the cliff itself, they were, and he could never
climb straight up unseen. He caught sight of a rectangular
darkness just above his head to the left of the ashpit. A
window? To what? This side of the kitchen was devoted to
stores rooms, but what window. . . . The stores rooms
were backed from the corridor side. No searcher would be-
lieve him able to open locked doors without a key. Which
the kitchen steward kept on a chain about his waist at all
times. He couldn't ask for a safer hiding place. And if he
closed the window behind him . . .

He had to wait until the kitchen courtyard had been
thoroughly searched . . . except for the garbage and ash-
pits. The shout went up that the thief must be hiding in
the Hold. The searchers swarmed back inside, and he
leaped to the top of the ashpit wall. His fingers just
reached the ledge of the window. Taking a deep breath,
Piemur gave a wriggling jump and succeeded in planting
both hands over the sill. It took every sinew in his body to
secure that awkward and painful grip. He felt as if he'd
scraped the skin from all his fingers as he clung and
worked his body up until his elbows had purchase on the
sill. With another mighty wriggle and kick, he managed to
propel himself up and over, falling on his head on the top-
most sack. Groaning at the pain of that contact, he twisted
about, and reaching up, drew the shutter tightly but
quietly across, barring the window. Then he felt the egg to
be sure his fall had done it no harm.

He tried to imagine this room from the perspective of
the door side, but all the stores rooms had seemed the-same.
He crouched in terror as he heard shouting in the corridor.
Someone rattled the bolts of the door.

"Locked right, and the steward has the keys. He can't
be here."

They might just take a look, thought Piemur, when they
didn't find him anywhere else. He crawled cautiously over
the stacked bundles until he found one with enough slack
at the top to admit him. He opened the thong, and just as
he was crawling in, wondered how under the sun he was

117

going to tie it up again, the switching at the side began to
give in his hands. Smiling happily at such a solution, he
rapidly undid the stitching down the side. Crawling out,
he retied the knot about the mouth of the sack, then slid
through the undone seam, which, once inside, he could do
up, slowly but enough to pass a cursory inspection. It was
hard to do, feeding the thick thread through the original
holes from the inside, and his hands and fingers were
cramped when he finally accomplished the feat.

He was in a sack of cloth bales and, despite the cramped
confines, he was able to wiggle down between bolts so that
he was standing on the bottom of the sack and both he and
the egg were cushioned on all sides by the material.

Between fatigue and the scant supply of air in the sack,
he found his eyes drooping, and surrendering to the combi-
nation of exhaustion and safety, he fell fast alseep.

He was roused briefly when the door was unlocked and
thrown open. But the inspection was cursory, since the
Hold Steward kept insisting that the doors had been
locked since the morning and he wouldn't let them poke
any spears lest they harm the contents of the bales.

"He could have hid in the glow room. He was sent there
several times."

The door was duly shut and locked.

Piemur was conscious of more activity, but his sleep was
so deep that he wasn't certain later whether he dreamed the
noise or not. He wasn't even conscious of being moved or
of the cold of between. What woke him was a strange dif-
ficulty with breathing, a sense of heat and the terror of
suffocating in his own sweat.

Gasping, he tore at the thread he had reworked, hard to
undo with moist trembling hands that had no strength,
and with sight impeded by perspiration pouring down his
forehead.

Even when he had forced a small hole in the sack, he
still couldn't seem to breathe. Weeping in terror, even to
the point of forgetting the egg that had brought him to
this extremity, he squirmed out of the sack to discover
himself in a small space among other sacks. The heat was
unbearable, but caution returned and he listened for any
sounds. Instead of noise, his senses reported sun-heated ma-

118

terial and hides, sun-warmed metal, and the sour sweat of
hot wine.

He tried to shove the nearest sack away from him and
couldn't shift it. Peeling the contents, he realized that it
was metal. Twisting around, he tested the sack above him
and gave an experimental heave. It moved, and a whoosh
of slightly cooler air rewarded his efforts. Dragging breath
into his lungs, he waited until his heart stopped its frantic
pounding. And then, belatedly remembering the egg, he
felt the rags about the precious burden. It seemed to be
whole, but he didn't have sufficient space to get it out
and look. He gave another shove at the upper bale with no
success. Angling so that his shoulders were against the un-
yielding metal, he levered his feet and pushed as hard as he
could. It moved farther, and he saw a crack of sky so bril-
liantly blue that he gasped at the color.

It was then that he realized he wasn't in Nabol Hold
any longer. That the heat was not due to the unventilated
stores room beyond Lord Meron's kitchen, but the sun
pouring down from southern skies.

Once he was able to breathe easily, Piemur became aware
of other discomforts: parched mouth and throat, a stom-
ach gnawing with emptiness, and a head that banged with
a distressingly keen ache.

He repositioned himself and shoved the sack a little fur-
ther to one side. Then he had to rest, panting with the
exertion as sweat trickled down inside his clothes. He had
made enough space to take a look at the egg, and he fum-
bled under his tunic for it with trembling hands. It was
warm to his touch, almost hot, and he worried that an egg
could be overheated. What had Menolly said about the
temperature required by hatching eggs? Surely beach sands
under the sun were hotter than his body. He could see no
fracture marks on the shell and fancied he felt a faint
throbbing. Probably his own blood. He squinted at the blue
sky, which meant freedom, and decided not to put the egg
back in his tunic. If he held it in front of him, then it
didn't matter how he twisted and squeezed his body past
the sacks and bales, the egg would take no harm and there
was no way it could fall far.

When he was breathing more easily, he gathered his

119




body, egg-holding hand above his head, and began to
squirm upward. Just as he thought he was free, the sack
behind him settled agonizingly on his left foot, and he had
to put the egg down to free himself.

Bruised—torn in muscle, skin and nerve—Piemur
slowly dragged himself out of the carelessly piled goods.
He lay stretched flat, mindful that he might be visible.
The unshielded sun baked his dehydrated and exhausted
body as he listened beyond the pounding of his heart and
the thudding of blood through his veins. But he heard only
the distant sound of voices raised in laughing conversation.
He could smell salt in the air and the odd aroma of some-
thing sweet, and perhaps, overripe.

His tired mind could not recall much of what he'd
heard of the Southern Veyr. Vague flashes of people say-
ing you could pick fresh fruit right off the trees reassured
him. A breeze fanned his face, bringing with it the smell of
baking meats. Hunger asserted itself. He licked his dried,
cracking lips and winced as the salt of his sweat settled
painfully in the cuts.

Cautiously he raised his head and realized that he was at
the top of a considerable mound that was braced agamst
the stone walls of a structure of some height. To one side
there was open space, to the other the crushed green of
leaves and fronds, half-trapped by the bales. He inched
himself cautiously toward the foliage, the egg considered
at each movement. But even with caution his heart all but
stopped when his motion caused one of the bundles to set-
tle abruptly with what seemed to him a lot of unnecessary

noise.

He listened intently for a long moment before continu-
ing his crawl toward the foliage. Now, if he could climb
up that tree . . . One look at the horny bark decided him
against that. His hands were sore, scratched and bleeding
from past efforts. He was about to crawl down the mound
instead when something orangey eaught his eye. A round
fruit slowly swayed just above his head. He licked his dry
lips and swallowed painfully against the parched tissue of
mouth and throat. It looked ripe. He reached out, scarcely
believing his luck, and the fruit rind dented softly at his
touch.

Piemur did not remember picking the fruit: he did re-





member the incredibly delicious, wet, tangy taste of the
orange-yellow meat as he tore juicy segments out of the
rind and crammed them into his moisture-starved mouth.
The juice stung his cracked lips, but it seemed to revive
the rest of him.

It was while he was licking his fingers clean of the last
of the fruit that he noticed the change in the laughing and
talking. The noise was coming nearer, and he could hear
individual phrases.

"If we don't get some of that stuff under cover, it'll be
rained," said a tenor voice.

"I can smell the wine, in fact, and that better be taken
out of the sun or it will be undrinkable," said a second
male voice with some urgency.

"And if Meron's ignored my order for fabric this time
. . ." The woman's sharp alto left the threat unspoken.

"I made it a condition of that last shipment of fire
lizard eggs, Mardra, so don't worry."

"Oh, I won't worry, but Meron will."

"Here, this one bears a weaver's seal."

"At the very bottom, too. Who piled this so carelessly?"

Piemur, scurrying down the other side as fast as he
could, felt the shiver as someone began tugging at the sacks
in the front. Then he was sliding and grabbed the egg
more tightly, exclaiming as he hit the ground with a thud.

Immediately three fire lizards, a bronze and two
browns, appeared in the air about him.

"I'm not here," he told them in a soundless whisper, ges-
turing urgently for them to go away. "You haven't seen
me. I'm not here!" He took to his heels, his knees wobbling
uncertainly, but as he lurched down a faintly outlined
path leading away from the voices and the goods, he
thought so fiercely of the black nothingness of between
that the fire lizards gave a shriek and disappeared.

"'Who's not here? What are you talking about?" The
strident tones of the woman's voice followed Piemur as he
careered away.

When he could run no more for the stitch in his side and
the lack of breath, he dared no more than pause until he'd
gotten his wind. He did stop longer when he came to a
stream, rinsed his mouth out with the tepid water and then
splashed it about his heated face and head.

m

A noise, to his apprehensive mind like the querying note
of a fire lizard, set him off again, after nearly falling into
the stream. He plunged on, tripped twice, curling his body
each time as he fell to protect the egg; but the third time
he fell, he had reached the end of his resources. He crawled
out of the line of the faint path to a place well under the
broad leaves of a flowering bush and probably slept even
before his labored breathing quietened.

122

Chapter 7

Sebell had not really worried about Piemur throughout the
Gather day as he wandered—or staggered—about in his as-
sumed role of wine-happy herdsman. And when word
flashed through the crowds that Lord Meron was to walk
the Gather, Sebell had no time to look for his apprentice.
He had to concentrate on listening to the mutterings about
Lord Meron and his curious generosity with fire lizard
eggs that only hatched greens.

If Lord Meron's appearance gave the lie to rumors that
the man was dead or dying, it was apparent to Sebell's
sharp eyes that the Lord Holder needed the support of the
two men who walked beside him, arms linked in his. Some
of his heirs, Sebell heard whispered in glum and disgusted
tones.

When the roasted beasts were being sliced for distribu-
tion to the Gather crowd, Sebell did begin to search for
Piemur. Surely the boy wouldn't miss free meat at Lord
Meron's expense. Not that the beasts were juicy, probably
the oldest creatures in the Hold herds, Sebell thought, end-
lessly chewing on his portion. He had placed himself at an
end table about the Gather square where Piemur ought to
be able to see him.

By the time the dancing started, Sebell began to worry.
N'ton would be returning for them at full dark, and he
didn't want to impose on the bronze dragonrider by re-
quiring him to wait about or return at a later time.

It was then that Sebell wondered if Piemur had some-
how gotten into trouble and maybe left the Gather area.
But, if Piemur had gotten into trouble, surely he would
have set up a howl for Sebell to rescue him. Perhaps he had
only crawled away for a nap. He'd had an early rising and
he might not be completely recovered from his fall. Sebell
sent Kimi about the Gather to see if she could locate the

*91

boy, but she returned, cheeping anxiously at her failure. He
sent her then to the allotment, in case Piemur had gone
there to wait. When that errand too was fruitless, Sebell
appropriated a handy, fast-looking runner beast from the
picket lines and made his way to their original meeting
place, on the off-chance that Piemur had returned there,
to wait for him and N'ton.

Though Sebell searched the valley carefully, he found no
trace of his young friend. He was forced to admit that
something had indeed happened to Piemur. He couldn't
imagine what, nor why Piemur, or whoever the lad might
have crossed, had not sent for him as Piemur's master.

He sped back to the Hold, retied his borrowed mount,
and reached the Gather just as news of the theft of the
queen egg rippled through the crowds. Feelings were mixed
as that news spread; anger from those who had received
lesser eggs, and amusement that someone had outsmarted
Lord Meron. By the time Sebell got to the Hold gates, no
one was being allowed in or out. Glowbaskets shone on
empty courtyards, and every window of the Hold was
brilliant with light. Sebell watched with the rest of the
curious gatherers while even the ash and refuse pits were
searched. Wagers were being laid that somehow Kaljan the
Miner had managed to steal the egg.

Sebell was there when the minemaster was escorted by
guard into the Hold after the man's baggage was thor-
oughly searched. An order was circulated, and additional
guards posted, to prevent anyone's leaving the Gather. Se-
bell positioned himself along the ramp parapet leading to
the Hold, where Piemur could easily spot him in the light
from the Hold's glows. Surely if the boy had only fallen
asleep, the noise would rouse him.

It was only when word filtered through the crowd that
some unknown drudge had made off with the precious egg
that Sebell came to the startling conclusion that that
drudge could have been Piemur. How the boy had man-
aged to enter the guarded Hold, Sebell couldn't figure
out, but trust Piemur to find a way. Certainly it was like
the boy to steal a fire lizard egg, given the opportunity. A
queen egg at that! Piemur never did anything by halves.
Sebell chuckled to himself and then sent Kimi flying with

124

the other agitated fire lizards to see if she could discover
where Piemur was hiding.

She returned and conveyed to Sebell that she couldn't
get close to Piemur. It was too dark and too full. When
Sebell questioned her for details, she grew distressed and
repeated the image of darkness and her inability to reach
the boy.

The frenzy of the search mounted. Guards were now
dispatched on fast runners up every road leading from the
Hold to find any travelers journeying from the Gather.
Sebell sent Kimi to the valley to warn N'ton away in case
the bronze rider was awaiting them. When Tris accompa-
nied her back, Sebell knew that his warning had been
timely. Tris chittered at him and then settled beside Kimi,
giving Sebell the opportunity to send the fire lizard to
bring N'ton should he be needed.

Both moons had risen by now, adding their soft light to
the glows, but despite the fact that the guards endlessly
searched and researched the Hold and yards, their efforts
proved vain. Delighted with Piemur's elusiveness, Sebell
settled himself to wait out the night in the shadowy corner
of the first cot below the ramp. He had a good view of the
guards and, by carefully looking over the ramp wall, could
see most of the courtyard.

He was roused from a half-doze by the shouts and angry
muttering as the guards prodded those who had lingered
about the gates back down toward the Gather area.

"Go on now," the guards kept saying. "Go to your cots
or your allotments. You'll be allowed to leave in the morn-
ing. No need to linger here. Go on with you, now!"

The moons had set, and gone, too, were all the glowbas-
kets that had illuminated the courtyards. Even the Hold
was in darkness, though some light seeped through the
shutters of the Lord Holder's apartments on the first level.
Curling himself into a tight ball in the shadows, Sebell hid
his face and hands and ordered Kimi to tell Tris to be
quiet and for both to keep their eyes closed.

When the guards disappeared, he wondered what was
happening. The Hold was virtually unguarded as well as
unlit. Was this some sort of trap to catch Piemur? Or
should Sebell take advantage of this opportunity and sneak

125

into the Hold? Kimi rattled her wings in alarm, and
through narrow slits her eyes gleamed yellow with worry.
Tris, too, stirred nervously.

Then Sebell picked up from Kirni's mind the image of
dragons; furthermore, dragons that neither fire lizard
knewl Just as that image faded in his mind, Sebell heard
the sound of dragon wings. Gliding from the northern
shadows of the Hold cliff, he saw the black bulks of four
dragons, wing on wing. Two settled neatly into the
kitchen courtyard while the other pair landed in the main
yard. Sebell heard hushed commands and then an unusual,
muted hubbub. Grunts and muffled oaths punctuated the
activity. Sebell was considering moving out of his protec-
tive shadows for a better view when he heard a heavy
groan, the unmistakable scrabble of talons on stone, and
the equally identifiable swhoosh of mighty wings making a
powerful downstroke.

In the one band of light in the kitchen courtyard he saw
the belly of a heavily laden bronze dragon struggling to
rise, his sides bulging. No sooner had the first one cleared,
than the second dragon launched himself skyward. The
two in the main courtyard moved to the kitchen yard.
More activity ensued, conducted with hoarse whispers and
low voiced commands.

All during this, Kimi and Tris shivered, clinging to Se-
bell in a fashion they had never exhibited in the vicinity of
other dragons. It took no great effort for Sebell to con-
clude that he had witnessed Lord Meron delivering goods
to the Oldtimers from the Southern Weyr. That queen fire
lizard egg had probably been prepayment for whatever the
dragons had lugged away.

Sebell heard the sound of low voices coming from the
direction of the Gather, and he hastily nipped back to his
dark comer, warning the two fire lizards to close their eyes
as he hid his face and hands again.

After moments of boot scuffing and muttered phrases,
there was silence. Cautiously raising his head, he saw that
the guards were back in position and that the glowbaskets
again glowed on ramp and Hold walls, illuminating the
roads leading up to the Hold. He was trapped in his shad-
owy comer. Nor did he dare to send Kimi or Tris from
him, for their flight would surely be noticed when there

126

wasn't another fire lizard to be seen. With a sigh, he set-
tled himself as comfortably as he could, Kimi draped
warmingly about his shoulders, and Tris curled at his side.

He couldn't have slept very long before he was rudely
awakened by the boom of the message drums. "Urgent to
the Healer! Lord Meron very ill. Masterharper required.
Urgent! Urgent 1 Urgent!"

Had they then caught Piemur and, recognizing him,
summoned Master Robinton to account for the misbehavior
of one of his apprentices? Lord Meron would like nothing
better than to be able to humiliate Master Robinton, for
any censure of the Masterharper would also touch the Ben-
den Weyrleaders, whom Lord Meron hated. Oh, well, if
that were the case, at least the boy had been found. Sebell
felt certain that Master Robinton could handle Lord Mer-
on's accusations. And yet, why was Master Oldive so ur-
gently required? No Hold drummed that measure unless
the emergency was critical.

The Hold's fire lizards had been awakened by the boom
of the big message drums and now wheeled about in the
glowlight. Sebell unwrapped Kinai's tail from his neck, and
holding her slender body in his hands, compelled her to
look at him while he gave her directions to Menolly. He
thought hard about clean clothes and imaged himself
dressed in harper blue. Kimi chirruped understandingly
and, after stroking his chin with her head, launched herself
up. Tris chirped questioningly, tugging at Sebell's sleeve.
N'ton would be a good ally, but strictly speaking the Fort
'Weyrleader had no genuine business here since Nabol was
beholden to T'bor of the High Reaches Weyr. So Sebell
looked deeply into Tris's lightly whirling eyes, thought
hard that N'ton need not come to the valley, and sent the
little brown back to his friend at Fort Weyr.

The message drum boomed a repeat, emphasizing again
the urgency. Sebell strained his ears for the relay drums at
the next point, but a handful of guards quick-stepped
down the road toward the Gather and their passing
masked the distant sounds.

Dawn was just breaking when Sebell, scanning the light-
ening skies, saw a dragon emerge. As the creature circled
gracefully down, Sebell was relieved to note the silhouettes
of four riders. He was perplexed because the dragon's spi-

127

raling descent would not put the party in the Hold's
courtyard, where logically they would be expected to land.
Abruptly, Kimi appeared in the air above him, cluttering
excitedly and darting off toward the Gather meadow. Her
mind pictured Menolly. When Sebell did not move quickly
enough to please her, she hovered at his shoulder and
tugged at his dirty tunic, darting off again toward the
meadow.

"I understand, of course. I'm tired, that's why I'm slow,
Kimi," he said. Sticking to the shadows, he skirted the cot
and started down the deserted road until he was fax
enough away from the guards. Then he picked up his feet
and ran down the deserted road toward the new arrivals.
He reached them just as the blue dragon left.

"Ah, Sebell," said the Masterharper, for all the world as
if he were welcoming his journeyman into his rooms at the
Harper Hall instead of surreptitiously meeting on a dark
meadow in early dawn. "Menolly, hand him his clothes. He
can tell us what has been happening while he changes. Is
Lord Meron so desperately ill?"

"Probably. Of temper if nothing else," replied Sebell,
stripping off his tunic and getting a shower of dust and
grit in his hair and face. "He walked the Gather last eve-
ning . . ."

"He what!" exclaimed Master Oldive, cocking his head
up at Sebell in surprise.

"He had to. And then someone stole a fire lizard queen
egg from the hearth of his bedroom . . ."

"No?" Laughter as well as amazement colored the Har-
per's exclamation.

"Piemur?" asked Menolly at the same moment. "Is that
why he isn't with you?"

"Is that why I've been summoned? To witness the pun-
ishment of a thieving apprentice?" Master Robinton was
no longer amused.

"I don't know. Master. Kimi located Piemur in the
Hold, but she couldn't explain where, said she couldn't get
to him because it was too dark. I know the guards spent
hours searching the Hold. Presumably they know it better
than Piemur could. But—" Sebell paused. "I'm bloody cer-
tain they would have made some sort of commotion if they
had found him and recovered that egg."

"Nothing would give Lord Meron more satisfaction
than to force me to punish an apprentice thieving in his
Hold."

"The message clearly states that Lord Meron is ill," said
Master Oldive. "If he was foolhardy enough to walk his
Gather and then agitate himself over the loss of a queen
egg, he could indeed be very ill in .his condition."

"It's accepted fact among the Nabolese," said Sebell,
gratefully throwing aside his herdsman's cracked boots,
which had rubbed his heels raw, "that the man's dying."
He glanced up at Oldive and saw the Healer's head move
affirmatively.

"Did you find out whom the Nabolese prefer as heir?"
asked Master Robinton.

"A grand-nephew, Deckter. A carter who runs a steady
business between Nabol and Crom. He's got four sons that
he keeps firmly in line. He's not a friendly man, but he's
got the grudging respect of those who know him." Sebell
had finished dressing and now gestured the group toward
the Hold. "I have also discerned that there are more fire
lizards in and about Nabol than there ought to be. Most of
them . . ." and he paused to give his words more weight,
". . . are green."

"Green?" Menolly swung on him in surprise.

"Yes, green."

"You mean," Menolly went on, "he's been distributing
eggs from green fire lizard clutches? Why, the bloody
beast!"

"On top of that insult, a lot of the eggs don't hatch at
all, so you can imagine how little his generosity endears
Lord Meron to the recipients," Sebell added grimly. "Of
more importance," and Sebell held up his hand to forestall
her angry words, "just after moonset, four dragons landed
right in the courtyards and lifted off again so heavily
laden you could hear their wings creakingi" Sebell grinned
at the expressions of shock from bis companions. "Further,
Kimi didn't know those dragons and their presence fright-
ened her."

"Now that is the most interesting piece of news you've
given me," remarked the Master Harper.

He said no more because they had reached the foot of
the ramp to the Hold and the group of men waiting there

129

impatiently rushed down to meet them. Sebell recognized
the Hold's harper, Candler, and the healer, Berdine. Of the
other three, he recognized the two men who had supported
Lord Meron on his Gather walk. The fatter man barged
straight up to the Harper.

"Master Robinton, I am Hittet, of the Blood, and you
simply must assist us. The situation must be clarified with
all possible dispatch. As I'm sure Master Oldive will tell
you, there is no time to be lost. . . ." The others exclaimed
in support of his words. "I fear that after the alarms and
excitements of this night, the poor man cannot long sur-
vive. But come, we must hurry." Then he took the Harper
by the arm and urged him toward the Hold.

"Alarms and excitements? Ah, yes, you had a Gather
yesterday. . . ." Master Robinton was saying.

"I can't thank you enough for responding. Master Ol-
dive," said Berdine falling in step with the Healer as the
others followed Hittet and Master Robinton across the
Court. "I know you said that there was nothing more you
could do for Lord Meron, but the truth of the matter is
that he has sadly taxed what strength was left him. I
warned him, oh I did most explicitly, that he ought not
walk the Gather, but he was adamant. Had to reassure his
holders. I think that would have been safe enough, but
then he insisted on having guests in his apartments ... so
much excitement. And then, to discover the queen egg had
been stolen!" Berdine fluttered his hands in distress. "Oh
my, oh my. I was beside myself trying to calm him. He
wouldn't take that draught you left me for such an emer-
gency. He became utterly uncontrollable when they
couldn't find that wretched drudge who'd stolen the

egg-"

"Journeyman Berdine," said Hittet in chillmg tones,
whipping about to stare warningly at the healer.

That interruption was timely made, for none of the Na-
bolese saw the looks of relief that the harpers exchanged.

"A drudge stealing an egg?" asked the Harper, as if he
didn't believe his ears.

"Yes, if you must know," began Hittet, still glaring at
the indiscreet healer. "Lord Meron was recently given a
clutch of fire lizard eggs, one of which was thought to be

730




a queen egg. He naturally took the best care of such prizes,
kept them on his own hearth. He has had a lot of experi-
ence with fire lizards, you see. He was to distribute the
eggs to deserving people as the high point of the Gather
Feast. When his rooms were being freshened, one of the
kitchen drudges had the audacity to steal the queen egg.
How, we can't yet understand. But it's gone, and that
wicked lad is somewhere in the Hold." Hittet's tone au-
gured ill for Piemur when he was found.

None of the Nabolese noticed Beauty, Zair and Kind
peeling off from airy escort and darting out an open win-
dow as the group traversed the Main HalL Sebell gave
Menolly's hand a reassuring squeeze. She didn't look at
him, but her lips curved slightly in a smile of relief.

"You can appreciate how upset Lord Meron was when
the theft was discovered, and I fear this, and our pressing
him to name an heir, resulted in his collapse," Hittet was
saying to Master Robinton.

"Collapse?" Master Oldive looked sternly at Berdine,
who immediately got his tongue twisted, trying to vindicate
himself to his craft's Master. Master Oldive now brushed
past Hittet and Master Robinton and, with the still apolo-
getic Berdine on his heels, ran up the steps with no regard to
his physical handicap or dignity.

Master Robinton also quickened his pace until the fat
Hittet was forced to run to keep up. Sebell and Menolly
deliberately slowed, to give their fire lizards a chance to
range through the Hold and locate Piemur.

"If you could know how good it is to see a friendly
face," said Candler, quite willing to match their laggard
advance to the Lord's apartments. "If anyone can make
that dreadful man see reason, it's Master Robinton. Lord
Meron won't name an heir. That's why he collapsed, to
avoid it. He was furious about the egg theft, to be sure,
but while they were searching, he was more like himself—
totally disagreeable and planning all kinds of fiendish pun-
ishments when they caught the drudge. Frankly, Sebell, he
wants the Hold in contention. You know how he hates
Benden. And now," and Candler laughed sourly, "none of
the relatives who've been badgering him to name one of
them wants to be the heir. I don't know why. They

131

changed their tune abruptly this morning. Just as well."
Candler snorted with disgust. "Any one of the lot would
create disorder in next to no time."

"Changed their minds early this morning, did they?"
said Sebell, grinning at Menolly.

"Yes, and I can't figure out why. Every single one of
them has done all he could to secure the nomination.
Now . . ."

"I'd heard that Deckter was an honest man."

"Deckter?" Candler swung toward Sebell in surprise.
"Oh, the carter." He gave a mirthless laugh. "I suppose he
could be considered an heir, couldn't he? Grand-nephew,
isn't he? Forgot about him. "Which is probably Deckter's
doing. Said he could make more money carting than he
could holding. He's probably right. How'd you know
about him?"

"Looked up the Nabol bloodline."

Beauty flitted back, skimming so close to Candler that
he ducked. Rocky, Zair and Kimi followed her, all chitter-
ing in some distress. All had the same message: Piemur
was not in the Hold. Sebell and Menolly exchanged
glances.

"Would he have hidden somewhere outside?" Menolly
asked.

Sebell gave a quick shake of his head. "Kimi couldn't
£nd him."

"Rocky and Beauty have been much closer to Piemur
than Kimi."

"Can't hurt to try!"

"Piemur?" asked Candler, mystified by this cryptic ex-
change.

"I've reason to believe that-the theft was accomplished
by Piemur," said Sebell. He and Menolly gave their fire
lizards new instructions and watched them dart out the
Hold door.

"Piemur? But I remember Piemur. The boy with the fine
soprano. I didn't see him anywhere—" Candler broke off
and pointed at Sebell. "You were there when Lord Meron
walked the Gather. The very drunken herdsman. I thought
there was something familiar about him. It -was you! Well.
And Piemur here, too? On harper business? I thought it
odd for one of Meron's drudges to have so much initiative.

232

Well, I'll tell you one thing, Piemur is not in this Hold.**

"How could he have gotten out?" asked Sebell. "I was
Just beyond the ramp all night. Even if I didn't see him,
Kimi would have."

They had reached the Lord's apartments now, and Can-
dler opened the door, gesturing them to precede him.

"What's that smell?" asked Menolly softly, grimacing in
distaste.

"Smell? Oh, you get used to it. Disgusting, I know, but
it has something to do with Lord Meron's illness. We try to
mask it," and Candler gestured to the sweet candles alight
in containers about the room. "I often think that it's only
justice," he added in a careful whisper, "for the suffering
he's given others, but it's a terrible way to die."

"I thought Master Oldive had given him . . ." Sebell
began.

"Oh, he has. The strongest there is, according to Ber-
dine. But the medicine only dulls the pain."

The doors to the next two rooms were open, and the
harpers could see the clusters of men standing about, in si-
lence, all avoiding each other's gaze. Suddenly, in the third
room, there was a brief flurry as the Harper appeared at
the door to the Lord's private room.

"Sebell 1" Master Robinton's calm request carried
clearly, and everyone turned to watch the Journeyman
hurry to his master's side. "Please send a drum message to
Lords Oterel, Nessel and Bargen, and to Weyrleader T'bor.
Would they please attend us here at Nabol immediately.
Double urgency on the beat, please."

"Yes, sir," said Sebell with such unexpected vigor that
Master Robinton gave him a mild second look. But Sebell
turned on his heel and walked swiftly out of the apart-
ments, motioning as he passed them for Candler and Men-
olly to come with him. "I don't know why I didn't think
of it earlier, Menolly. If Piemur got out of the Hold and is
hiding somewhere in the hills, he'll surface to a drum mes-
sage aimed at him. Lead us to your drumheights, Candler."

The big message drums needed only to be uncovered,
Sebell stood for a moment, beaters poised over the taut
hide as he composed his message. The opening roll boomed
across the valley, the urgent measure following as the last
echoes died. Then Sebell, eyes half-closed in concentration,

133

beat out the recipients' names, the Harper's request, and
the urgent measures once again to insure immediate reply
and attention. Menolly positioned herself at the -window
then, ears straining to catch the pass-along roll from the
next drumheights.

"There it is from the east," she told the two men.
"What's wrong with the northern listeners? Still asleep?
Ah, there they are."

"Candler, any chance of some food?" Sebell asked the
Hold Harper. "We'd best wait here for replies."

"Yes, let's eat here where the air is clear," said Menolly,
with a shudder as she thought of the thick, distasteful
odor in Lord Meron's rooms.

"Of course, of course. I apologize for not offering
sooner." Candler was away down the stairs.

Sebell picked up the sticks again and beat a quick mea-
sure. "Apprentice. Report. Urgent." He waited a few
breaths and then repeated the measure.

"If he's anywhere between here and Ruatha or Crom,
he'll hear that," Sebell said, carefully replacing the drum-
sticks on their hooks before he joined Menolly at the win-
dow.

Her face was sad and her brows constricted in a tiny
frown as she gazed across the huddle of cots below the
Hold ramp and over the disorganized Gather square, still
tenanted by those unwillingly held over by the emergency.
Few sounds wafted to their ears at this height, and the
scene was unrealistically calm.

"Don't fret over Piemur, Menolly," Sebell said, trying to
sound more lighthearted than he felt. "He has a knack of
landing on his feet." He smiled down at her, allowing him-
self the luxury of putting his arm lightly about her shoul-
ders.

"Except when the steps are greased!" Menolly's voice
had an angry edge, and he gripped her shoulder reassur-
ingly.

"Look at it this way: just see how that misadventure
has worked to his advantage. He's got out of the drum-
heights and acquired himself a queen fire lizard egg. For
all we know, he may meet us at the Hold gates with it,
smiling in that ingenuous fashion of his, when you and I
know he's as devious as Meroni"

734

"I wish I could believe you, Sebell," Menolly said sighing
heavily, but she. leaned trustingly against him for his com-
fort. "If he was anywhere in the vicinity. Beauty and
Rocky ought to have found him."

"He's somewhere," replied Sebell firmly, and daring
more than ever, he gave her a quick hug, turning abruptly
from her as he caught her startled look. "The wretch!" he
added, more of a growl than a comment. At that moment,
they both heard the message drum roll across the moun-
tains, and Sebell hastily strode back to the drums.

Candler arrived, just as Sebell beat "receive" for the last
of the messages. The Nabol Harper was panting with the
exertion of his climb, for he carried not only a well-laden
tray, but a full wine skin slung over his shoulder. The three
harpers had time to make a leisurely meal before the first
of the visitors arrived. The harpers then escorted the Lord
Holders and T'bor to the Master Harper.

Sebell almost gagged and lost his breakfast when he
brought Lords Holder Nessel and Bargen into Lord Mer-
on's inner room. Menolly was already there with Lord
Oterel and "Weyrleader T'bor. He saw her mouth working
to control the revulsion she was obviously feeling. Only
Candler seemed impervious to the odor.

Although Sebell had seen Lord Meron the day before, he
was appalled by the change in the man propped up in the
bed: the eyes were sunken, pain had lined his face deeply,
his skin was a pale yellow, and his fingers, plucking ner-
vously at the fur rug that covered him, were claws with
hanging bags of flesh between the knuckles. It was as if,
Sebell thought, all life was centered in those hands, feebly
holding onto life through the hair of the fur.

"So, I'm granted my own private gather, is that it?
Well, I've no welcome for any of you. Go away. I'm dying.
That's what you all wished me to do these past Turns.
Leave me to it."

"You've not named your successor," said Lord Oterel
bluntly.

"I'll die before I do."

"I think we must persuade you to change your mind on
that count," said the Masterharper in a quiet, amiable tone.

"How?" Lord Meron's snarl was smug in his self-
assurance.

135







"There is friendly persuasion. ..."

"If you think I'll name a successor just to make things
easy for you and those dregs at Benden, think again!" The
force of that remark left the man gasping against his props,
one hand feebly beckoning to Master Oldive, whose atten-
tion was on the Harper.

". . . Or unfriendly persuasion," continued Master

Robinton as if Lord Meron hadn't spoken.

"Ha! You can do nothing to a dying man. Master Robin-

ton! You, Healer, my medicine!"

Master Robinton lifted his arm, effectively barring Ber-
dine from approaching the sick man.

"That's precisely it, my Lord Meron," said the Harper in
an implacable voice, "we can do ... nothing ... to a

dying man."

Sebell heard Menolly's catch of breath as she understood
what Master Robinton had in mind to force this issue with
Lord Meron. Berdine started to protest, but was silenced
by a growl from Lord Oterel. The healer turned appeal-
ingly to Master Oldive, whose eyes had never left the face
of the Harper. Although Sebell had known how desperately
Master Robinton wished for a peaceful succession in this
Hold, he had not appreciated the steel in his pacific Mas-
ter's will. Nabol Hold must not come into contention, not
with every Holder's younger sons eager and willing to
fight to the death to secure even as ill-managed a Hold as
this. Such fighting could go on and on, until no more
challengers presented themselves. What little prosperity
Nabol enjoyed would have been wasted in the meantime
with no one holding the lands properly.

""What do you mean?" Meron's voice rose to a shriek.
"Master Oldive, attend me. Now!"

Master Oldive turned to the Lords Holder and bowed.
"I understand, my Lords, that there are many seeking my
aid at the Hold gates. I will, of course, return when my
presence is required here. Berdine, accompany me!"

When Lord Meron screamed for the two healers to halt,
to attend him. Master Oldive took Berdine by the arm and
firmly led him out, deaf to Meron's orders. As the door
closed behind him, Meron ceased his entreaties and turned
to the impassive faces that watched him.

"You wouldn't? Can't you understand? I'm in pain. Ag-


ony! Something inside is burning through my vitals. It
won't stop until it's eaten me to a shell. I must have medi-
cine. I must have it!"

"We must have the name of your successor." Lord Oter-
el's voice was pitiless.

Master Robinton began to name the male relatives, his
voice expressionless as he intoned the list. When he had
completed it, he recited it again.

"You've forgotten one. Master," Sebell said in a respect-
ful tone. "Deckter."

"Deckter?" The Harper turned slightly toward Sebell,
his brows raised in surprise at being corrected.

"Yes, sir. A grand-nephew."

"Oh." The Harper sounded surprised, at the same time
dismissing the man with a flick of his fingers. He repeated
the list to Lord Meron, now mouthing obscenities as he
writhed on his bed. Deckter was added as an afterthought.
Then the Harper paused, looking inquiringly at Lord
Meron, who responded with another flow of invective, de-
manding Oldive's presence at the top of his voice. Again,
the effort rendered him momentarily exhausted. He lay
back, panting through his opened mouth, blinking to clear
the sweat from his eyes.

"You must name your successor," said T'bor, High
Reaches Weyrleader, and Meron's eyes rested on the man
whose private grievance with him ran deepest. For it was
Lord Meron's association with T'bor's Weyrwoman, Ky-
lara, that had caused the death of both Kylara's queen
dragon, Pridenth, and Brekke's Wirenth.

Sebell watched Meron's eyes widen with growing horror
as he finally realized that he would have no surcease from
the pain of his body until he did name a successor, con-
fronted as he was by men who had excellent reason for
hating him.                  i

Sebell also noted that T'bor forgot to mention Deckter.
So did Lord Oterel when he took his turn. Lord Bargen
recited the name first, with a glance at Oterel for his omis-
sion.

Sebell knew he would always remember this bizarre and
macabre scene with horror as well as with a certain awful
respect. He had long known that Master Robinton would
use unexpected methods to maintain order throughout

137




Pem and to uphold the leadership of Benden Weyr, but he
had never expected such ruthlessness in the other-wise gen-
tle and compassionate Robinton. He schooled his mind
away from the stink and closeness of the room, from Mer-
on's pain, by trying to appreciate the tactics that were
being used as Lord Meron was deftly maneuvered into
choosing the one man the others preferred among his heirs
by their seeming to forget Deckter half the time. For a
long while afterward, the flickering of glows would re-
mind Sebell and Menolly of those eerie hours while Lord
Meron tried to resist the will of his inflexible peers.

It was inevitable that Meron would capitulate: Sebell
thought he could almost feel the pulsing of pain through
the man's body as he screamed out Deckter's name, think-
ing he had chosen to displease the men who had so tor-
mented him.

The instant he spoke Deckter's name. Master Oldive,
who had gone no further than the next room, came to give

the man relief.

"Perhaps it was a terrible cruelty to inflict on anyone,"
Master Oldive told the Lords when they left Meron in a
drugged stupor, "but the ordeal has also hastened his end.
Which can only be a mercy. I don't think he can last an-
other day."

The other heirs, Hittet the most vocal, now barged in
from the entry room, demanding to know why they had
been excluded from their kinsman's presence, berating the
Lord Holders and Master Robinton for this unconscionable
delay and finally remembering to ask if Lord Meron had
indeed named an heir. When they were told of Deckter,
their reactions were compounds of relief, consternation,
disappointment and then incredulity. Sebell extricated
Menolly from the knot of chattering relatives and guided
her to the steps down to the Main Hall and out of the
Hold where they could breathe the fresh, untainted air.

A considerable and silent crowd lined the ramp, held
back by the guards. At the sight of the two harpers, they
began to shout for news. Was Lord Meron dead? What
was happening to bring Lord Holders and the Weyrleader

to Nabol?

As Sebell raised his hands for silence, he and Menolly

13S

scanned the faces, looking for Piemur in that crowd. When
he had their attention, Sebell told them that Lord Meron
had named his successor. A curious rippling groan came
from the crowd as if they expected the worst and were
steeling themselves. So Sebell grinned as he called out
Deckter's name. The multiple gasp of astonishment turned
into a spate of relieved cheers. Sebell then told the head
guard to send for the honored man, and half the crowd
followed the messengers of this mixed fortune.

"I don't see Piemur," said Menolly in a low anxious
voice, her eyes continually scanning. "Surely with us here,
he'd come forward."

"Yes, he would. And since he hasn't . . ." Sebell looked
about the courtyard. "I wonder . . ." As he twisted
slowly in a circle, he realized that there would have been
no way for Piemur to climb out of the Hold yards. Not
even a fire lizard could claw its way up the cliff above the
Hold's windows. Especially not in the dark and encum-
bered by a fragile fire lizard egg. His eyes were drawn by
the ash and refuse pits, but he distinctly remembered their
being vigorously spear-searched. His glance traveled up-
ward and paused on the small window. "Menolly!" He
grabbed her by the hand and started pulling her toward
the kitchen yard. "Kimi said it was dark. I wonder what's
. . ." In his excitement, Sebell reversed back to the guard,
hauling the complaining Menolly with him. "See that little
window above the ashpit?" he asked the guard excitedly.
"What does it open on? The kitchen?"

"That one? Naught but a stores room." And then the
guard clamped his teeth shut, looking apprehensively back
to the Hold as if he had been indiscreet and feared reprisal.

His reaction told Sebell exactly what he needed to
know.

"The supplies for the Southern Weyr were stored in that
room, weren't they?"

The guard stared straight ahead of him, lips pressed
firmly together, but the flush in his face was a giveaway.
Laughing with relief, Sebell half-ran toward the kitchen
yard, Menolly eagerly following him.

"You think Piemur hid himself among the stuff for the
Oldtimers?" Menolly asked.

139




"It's the only answer that suits the circumstances. Men-
oily," said Sebell. He halted right in front of the ashpit
and pointed to the wall that separated the two pits. "That
wouldn't be too high a jump for an agile lad, would it?"

"No, I wouldn't think so. And just like Piemur! But,
Sebell, that would mean he's in the Southern Veyr!"

"Yes it would, wouldn't it," said Sebell, unutterably re-
lieved that the mystery of Piemur's disappearance could be
explained. "C'mon. We'll send a message to Toric to be on
the lookout for that rascal. I think Kimi knows Southern
better than Beauty and Rocky."

"Let's send them all. Mine know Piemur best. ,0h, just
wait till I get my hands on that young man!"

Sebell laughed at Menolly's fierce expression. "I told you
he'd land on his feet."

Chapter 8

The change in temperature roused Piemur, his mouth dry
and sour, his body stiff. He couldn't think for a moment
where he was or why he ached and his guts rumbled.

He sat bolt upright as he remembered and felt inside his
tunic for the beragged egg. He tore the covering in his
frenzy to check the precious shell and was trembling with
relief when he' touched its warm shape. The quick tropical
dusk was nearly on him, the vivid glimmer of the sun
coating the foliage about him with gold. He heard the lap
of water and, peering toward the sound, realized that he
was close to a beach. The call of a nest-homing wherry
startled him as he crept stiffly from under his bush. He
knew he'd have little time and light to settle the egg in
warm sand for the night. He staggered to the beach, pray-
ing it would be a sandy one, crying out in relief when he
saw that it was, dropping to his knees to burrow into the
warm sand and bury the egg safely.

Wearily he built a pile of rocks to mark the spot and
then pulled himself back to the jungle, using the light to
locate a tree with orange fruit. The Erst few he batted
down from the branches with a long stick were too hard to
be edible, another fell with a liquid splot. He scooped up
the overripe fruit and swallowed it down, grimacing at the
slightly rancid taste. Then he managed, after several more
attempts, to get two edible fruits. Barely satisfied, he
propped himself against the tree's trunk and slept fitfully
through the night.

Piemur stayed in that area all the next day, resting,
washing his scratched and bruised self in the warm sea-
water, rinsing out his stained and torn clothes. He had to seek
the concealing shelter of the forest several times as first
fire lizards and then dragons flew overhead. He was too
close to the Weyr, he realized, and he would have to move

141

on. But first, something to eat: more orange fruit and
redfruit, which seemed to grow in profusion. He also
picked up several dried hulls, one for carrying water and
another for carrying his fire lizard egg buried in warm
beach sand.

When he saw fire lizards and dragons returning to the
Weyr, he waited for a spell before he retrieved his egg,
packing it well in the hot sands, and headed westward,
away from the Veyr.

Afterward, he never could figure out why he felt the
Weyr and the Southern Hold were dangerous to him. He
just felt he ought to avoid any contact with them, cer-
tainly until his egg had hatched and he had Impressed his
own fire lizard. It wasn't logical, really, but he'd endured
a harrowing experience, had already been in the role of the
hunted, and so he continued to run.

The first moon rose early and full, lighting his way
along the shore, up the rocky banks and steep sand dunes.
He traveled on, occasionally eating fruit as he plodded and
pausing three times for a small nap. But each time anxiety
snapped him wakeful and set him on his way again.

The second moon rose, doubling the quantity of light
but striking curious shadows against its companion that of-
ten made Piemur detour around rocks made gigantic by
the mismatched illumination. He knew that strange things
could happen to travelers under the double moons, but he '
persevered until both moons had set and the darkness
forced him to seek refuge under the trees, where he'd be
safely hid if he slept and dawn came before he knew.

He woke when a snake crawled over his legs, scraping
against his bare skin where the trousers had been torn. He
clutched feverishly at the egg, for snakes liked fire lizard
eggs. The sand about his precious possession was cool and
that brought him to his feet. He emerged onto a small
cove, baking in a midmorning sun. He scooped out a hole
and buried his egg, marking the spot with the upturned
fruit shell ringed by beach stones. Then he returned to the
jungle to seek his breakfast and water.

The diet of fresh raw fruit was affecting his digestion,
and he spent some uncomfortable moments before he real-
ized he would have to have something else to eat. He re-
membered what Menolly had said about fishing from her

142

cave in the Dragon Stones, but he hadn't so much as a line.
Then he noticed the thick vines clinging to tree trunks and
viewed the thorns on the orange fruit trees with new sight.
Using his belt knife and a little ingenuity, he shortly had
himself a respectable fishing line. He baited his hook with
a sliver of orange fruit, having nothing better.

The western arm of the cove had been swept into a long
rocky hook and Piemur climbed and scrambled to the fur-
thest point. Casting his hook and line into the foaming
waves that lapped the base of the rock, he sat down to
wait.

It was a long time before he had any luck in landing a
fish, though he had pulls on several occasions that lost him
his bait. When he finally hauled in a medium-sized yellow-
tail he had every right to be jubilant and think longingly
of roast fish. But as he rose from his cramped position and
turned, he realized he'd been very stupid. His rock was
now isolated from the cove's arm by active surf, With a
shock, he realized his second mistake: he had buried the
egg in sands that would shortly be underwater. His yellow-
tail was considerably mangled by the time he had paddled,
jumped and splashed ashore. His immersion in salt water
had disclosed another shortsightedness on his part: his
face, particularly his nose and the tips of his ears, had been
badly sunburned, as well as the parts of his body showing
through rents in his tunic.

He rescued his egg first, burying it in the shell with the
hottest sands he could scoop about it. Then he hurried on
to the next cove and a spot well above an obvious high-tide
mark.

It took him time, too, to find rocks that would spark
and light his fire of dried grasses and twigs. Eventually, he
got enough of a blaze and he stretched the gutted yellow-
tail over the fire to broil, barely able to contain his impa-
tient hunger until the meat darkened. Never had fish
tasted so sweet and delectable! He could have eaten ten or
twelve the same size and not had too much. He gazed
longingly out at the sea, and to his disgust saw fish leaping
out of the waters as if to tantalize him. Then he remem-
bered that Menolly had said the best times to fish were
sunrise and sunset-or after a hard rain. No wonder he'd
had such a wait, fishing at midday.

143




His face and hands burned now from too much sun, so
he hiked deep into the woods that lined the beach, looking
for fresh water, for ripe fruit, and seeing in the luxurious
undergrowth, familiar, but oddly outsized, leaves of tuber
plants. Experimentally he yanked on a handful of stems
and up came a huge tuber root, which he dropped when he
saw the small gray grubs that swarmed over it. But they
disappeared quickly back into the rich loam, leaving clean
the enormous white tuber. Suspiciously Piemur picked it up
and examined it from all sides. It looked all right, even if
it was much bigger than any tuber he'd ever seen. He was
certainly hungry enough to eat all of it.

Taking it back to his dying fire, he fed the flame to a
good height, washed the tuber in some of his precious fresh
water, and sliced it thinly. He toasted the first slice on the
end of his knife and broke off a tiny piece for judicious
tasting. Maybe it was his hunger, but he decided he'd
never tasted such a delicious tuber, crisp on the outside
and just soft enough on the inside. He made quick work of
cooking the remaining slices and felt immeasurably better.

Retracing his steps, he found tubers in quantity, but
took only what he could carry.

When the tide had begun to recede from his boulder
that evening, he splashed out to it again and was rewarded
with several yellowtails of respectable size. He broiled two
for his dinner, toasted another huge tuber and then undug
his egg, arranging it in its carrying shell with plenty of
warm sand.

He walked that night again until both moons had set.
When he found a place to sleep on dried tree fronds, he
arranged himself so that the rising sun would shine in his
face and wake him. That way, he would be up in time to
catch fish.

He followed this routine for two more days and nights,
until the last night he realized that for some time he had
seen no fire lizards nor dragons, nor any other living crea-
ture, except windborne wild wherries soaring high above
the ground. He told himself that the next day, as soon as
he found fresh water and a good cove with a wide sandy
beach well above high-water markings with convenient
fishing points, he would settle. The egg was perceptibly
hardening and surely must be close to hatching time.

144




That evening he began to wonder why he had contin-
ued moving away from hold and Weyr. Of course, it was
kind of fun, discovering each new cove and the vast
stretches of sandy beach and rocky strand. To be account-
able to no one except himself was also a new experience.
Now that he had enough to eat and some variety of food,
he was enjoying his adventure very much indeed. Why,
he'd wager anything that he'd set foot on places no other
person had ever trod. It was exhilarating to be first at
something, instead of following others and doing just what
every other apprentice had done before him Turn after
Turn after Turn.

He fished in the morning, catching a packtail and being
mindful of Menolly's experience with the tough, oily flesh
as he gutted it. He smeared oil on face and body to ease
the rough skin the sun had burned, reasoning that if Men-
oily had used fish oil for her fire lizards' flaking hides, it
would do for his as well.

Retrieving and inspecting his precious egg, he was now
certain it must be close to hatching, the shell was so rock
hard. He packed it in the fruit shell with warm sand and
proceeded westward, striking off through the shadier for-
est for a while.

At midmorning he stumbled out of the shade onto a
wide expanse of gleaming white sand that forced him to
squint against its glare. Shading his eyes, he saw a lagoon,
partially sealed off from the sea by a jagged barrier of
massive rocks, which must once have been the original
coastline. Carefully climbing along that rocky arm, he
could see all kinds of fish and crawlers in the clear water,
trapped there after the higher tides had retreated. Just
what he needed, his own private fishing pond. He retraced
his steps and continued along the beach. Parallel to the
point where the lagoon broke into the sea, he discovered a
small stream emerging from the jungle, feeding into the la-
goon. He followed it far enough up its course to clean wa-
ter untainted by the sea.

He was jubilant and amazed that anywhere in this world
of sun, sea and sand could exist that was exactly right to
suit his requirements. And it was all his! Here he could
stay until his egg hatched. And he'd better make the right
preparations for that event now. It wouldn't do to miss

145

Impressing simply because he had no food for the hatch-
ling.

He had seen neither fire lizards nor dragons in the sky
for the past two days, so afterward he thought that might
be why he had given no thought to Thread. In hindsight
he realized that he had known perfectly well that Thread
fell on the southern half of Pern just as it did in the
North. His preoccupation with the fire lizard egg and his
efforts to supply himself with food had simply divorced
him from the concerns and memories of life in craft and

hall.

He was fishing that dawn, lying prone on the grass pad
he had made to protect his bare chest from the harsh rock
surfaces when he experienced a sudden sense of alarm so
intense that he glanced over his right shoulder and saw in
horror the gray rain hissing into the sea not a dragon's

length beyond.

He remembered later that he glanced for the reassuring
sight of flaming dragons just before he realized that he
was completely unprotected from Thread whether dragons
were in the sky or not. That same instinct sent him plung-
ing into the lagoon. Then he was., in the midst of violent
activity as half the fish in the ocean seemed to crowd
against him, eager to consume the Thread that was diving
to feed them. Piemur propelled himself up out of the wa-
ter, flailing his arms to keep water about his body in the
notion that water might protect him from Thread, as he
gulped air into his lungs.

His shoulders wre stung while he fell back under the
water. He pushed himself down, down again. But before
long, he had to repeat the cycle of emerging, gulping air
into his laboring lungs, then retreating to a depth that was
free of viable Thread. He'd done this six or seven times
before he realized that he couldn't sustain such activity for
the length of Threadfall. He was dizzy with lack of oxy-
gen, pinpointed by Threadscore that burned and stung in
the salty water. Menolly had at least had a cave in which

to shelter and. . . .

If he could find it, if it were sufficiently above the sur-
face of the lagoon at this time of the tide, there was an
overhanging rock. . . . He desperately tried to place its
location on the lagoon arm the next time he surfaced, but

he could barely see with eyes red and stinging. He was
never sure in the mist of panic and anoxia how he found
that meager shelter. But he did. He scraped his cheek, right
hand and shoulder in the process, but when the redness
cleared from his eyes, his nose and mouth were above water
and his head and shoulders protected by a narrow roof of
rock. Literally, just beyond the tip of his nose. Thread
sheeted into the water. He felt fish bump and dive against
him, sometimes sharply nibbling at his legs or arms until he
flailed the attacked limb and the fish darted after their
customary food.

Part of his mind knew when the menace of Thread had
passed, but he remained where he was until the cloud of
falling Thread moved beyond the horizon and the sun once
more shone in unoccluded splendor on a peaceful scene.
The terrified core of his soul, however, was slower to ac-
knowledge that danger was over, and he remained in the
shelter of the ledge until the tide had receded, leaving him
stranded like a white fish on his portion of the reef.

Anxiety for his egg finally drove him from his sanc-
tuary to check it in its beachy nest. The first scoop of sand
he threw violently from him for it contained hundreds of
the gray, squirming grubs. They reminded him so force-
fully of Thread that he scrubbed his hands against his
sides. Could Thread have penetrated the egg? He dug
frantically until he reached it. He caressed the warm shell
in relief. Surely it would hatch any time nowl

Abruptly he hoped it wouldn't happen just now. He had
no fish handy, and with their bellies full, he doubted if
he'd catch any before sundown. If then. And how would
he know precisely when the egg was going to hatch? Drag-
ons always knew when a clutch was ready and warned
their riders. Menolly said her fire lizards began to hum and
their eyes whirled purple-red. He had no such forecasters
to aid him.

Seized by a sense of urgency, he foraged in the jungle
for vines to make another line and thorns from the fruit
trees for hooks. But just to be safe, he gathered some fruit
and some tough-shelled nuts. Hatchlings needed meat, he
knew, but he supposed anything edible would be better
than an empty hand.

It was while he was fitting the thorn hook into the end




of the vine that the impact of the day started to hit him.
His fingers trembled so that he had to pause. He, Piemur
of ... well, he wasn't a herdsman's boy anymore, and
he wasn't a harper's apprentice either . . . Piemur . . .
Piemur of Pern. He, Piemur of Pern, he went on more confi-
dently, had survived Threadfall holdless. He straightened
his shoulders and smiled broadly as he glanced proudly
across his lagoon. Piemur of Pern had survived Threadfalll
He had overcome considerable obstacles to secure a queen
fire lizard egg. It would hatch, and he would, at long last,
have a fire lizard all his own! He glanced fondly at the
mound in the sand that was his little queen.

Was he certain, though, that it was a queen? Doubt as-
sailed him briefly. If it wasn't, it might be a bronze and
that was every bit as good. But it had to be a queen egg,
separated as it had been from the others warming by Lord
Meron's fire.

Piemur chuckled at his own stupidity. He ought to have
realized that Lord Meron would present the eggs as the
climax to his feasting. Of course, the recipients would
check, out of joy. Or maybe, out of distrust for Lord Mer-
on's generosity. He really ought to have gotten out of the
Hold before the feast had ended. How, he couldn't imag-
ine, but he just might have done it if he'd tried. Certainly
he wouldn't now be isolated on the Southern Continent.
He put a final twist in the vine to hold the thorn hook
firmly.

He gazed northward across the heat hazy sea in the
general direction of Fort Hold and the Harper Hall. He'd
been gone eight days now. Had they tried to find him at
Nabol Hold? He was a bit surprised that Sebell hadn't sent
Kimi or Menolly's Rocky to look. But then, how was any-
one to know where he was? North or south? And fire liz-
ards had to have directions, just like dragons. Sebell might
not have learned that Lord Meron was dealing with the
Southerners, or that there had been a collection that night.

A splash in the lagoon attracted his attention. The fish
were back with the tide. He rose and made his way across
the exposed rocks, affectionately patting the ledge that
had sheltered him.

It took him longer than usual to catch a fish that eve-

148

ning. And he only landed a small yellowtail, too small to
satisfy his hunger, much less provide for a voracious
hatchling. Soon the rising tide would isolate him on this
section of the lagoon so if he didn't hook shortly, he'd have
to retreat to where the fishing was always poorer.

Controlling his impatience as best he could, for Piemur
was certain that the fish heard sound, else why were they
avoiding his hook, he also held his breath as he jerked his
line in an imitation of live bait. That's when the curious
noise came to his ears. He raised his head, looking about,
trying to locate the source of that odd sound, so faintly
heard above the lap of wave against rock. He scanned the
skies, thinking there might be wild wherries or fire lizards
above him. Or worse, dragonriders to whom he would be
extremely visible, stretched along the reef rock.

It was the movement on the beach that caught .his eye,
more than placing the sound there. Just then the line in his
hand jerked. In a panic of comprehension, he nearly let go
but a reflex prompted him to haul the line in rapidly, ris-
ing to his feet as he did so, his eyes on the beach.

Something moved on the sand. Near his egg! A sand-
snake? He picked up the first yellowtail, poked a finger in
the gills of the hooked one, and made for the beach. Noth-
ing was going to. ...

Surprise and consternation halted him for one panic-
filled instant as he saw the cause of the motion; a tiny
glistening golden creature flapping awkwardly across the
sands, piteously screaming. "Wild wherries materialized in
the sky, drawn by some uncanny magnet to this birth mo-
ment.

"All you have to do is feed a hatchling!" Menolly's calm
advice rang in his ears as he stumbled across the sand and
nearly fell on the tiny queen. He fumbled at his belt for his
knife to cut up the fish. "Use pieces about the size of your
thumb or else the hatchlings will choke."

Even as he tried to cut through tough fish scale, the
little fire lizard darted forward, screaming with hunger.

"No. No. You'll choke to death," cried Piemur, pulling
the fish tail from the fire lizard's grasp and hacking
chunks from the softer flesh along the spine.

Shrieking with rage at being denied food, the little

149

queen began to tear at the fish flesh. Her talons were too
birth soft to perform their function, so Piemur had time to
slice suitable portions for her. "I'm slicing as fast as I can."

A race ensued then, between the hunger of the little
queen and Piemur's knife. He managed to keep just a slice
ahead of her voracity. When his knife opened the softer
fish gut, she pounced, mumbling in her haste to consume
it. Piemur wasn't certain if fish entrails, full of Thread no
doubt, were a suitable diet for a newly hatched fire lizard,
but it gave him time to cut more flesh.

He started on the second yellowtail, putting it first to
occupy her while he hacked rapidly at the flesh. He knew
one was supposed to hold the fire lizard while one fed it,
to form the Impression, but he didn't see how he could
contrive that until he had food enough to coax her into his
hand.

Finished with the offal, she turned back to him, her
rainbow eyes glaring at him as they whirled redly with
hunger. She gave a scream, opened her still wet wings and
dove on the small mound of fish pieces. He caught her
first, holding her body firmly just under the wings and
then proceeded to feed her piece by piece until she stopped
struggling in his grasp. The edge of her hunger assuaged,
she paused long enough to chew, and her voice took on a
new, softer note. He loosened his hold and began to stroke
her, marveling at the wiry strength in the slender body, at
the softness of her hide, at the liveness of her, his very own
fire lizard.

A shadow crossed them, and the queen raised her head
and rasped out a warning.

He looked up and saw that the wherries had boldly cir-
cled down and were just above him, talons poised to grab.
He waved his knife, the blade sparkling and glinting in the
sun, frightening the wherries into wider, higher circles.

Wild wherries were dangerous, and he and the hatchling
were unprotected on the open beach. He gathered her care-
fully into the crook of his arm, grabbed the line from
which the fishhead still depended and started to run to-
ward the jungle.

She shrieked in protest as he broke into a full run just as
the wherry leader made its first pass. He sliced upward
with his knife, but the wherry was clever and, adding its

piercing scream to the fire lizard's, veered away from him.
Holding the struggling queen against his chest, Piemur
hunched his shoulders and concentrated on reaching the
forest as fast as he could. He'd always prided himself on
his speed: right now that ability had to save two lives.

He saw the shadow of another wherry dive at them and
swerved to the left, grinning with satisfaction at its shrill
call of anger when it was balked of its prey.

The queen's talons might not be dry but they scrabbled
painfully against his bare chest as she struggled to grab the
fishhead that dangled enticingly from the line in his hand.
Piemur ducked right as he avoided a third wherry's dive,
and the queen missed her lunge for the fishhead.

The fourth attack occurred so quickly that Piemur
couldn't duck in time and felt a sharp pain as the wherry's
talons scraped across his shoulders. Twisting upward, he
slashed out with his knife, tripping as he did so and in-
stinctively rolling to the right to protect his precious bur-
den. He saw the wherries trying to veer fast enough to
come at him on the ground, shrilling out that their prey
had fallen and was at their mercy.

The little queen was now aware of their peril and slip-
ping from his grasp, jumped to his shoulder, spreading her
wings and screaming defiance at the attackers. She was so
valiant, the little darling, so small in comparison to the
wherries that her courage gave Piemur the impetus he
needed. He scrambled to his feet, felt her cling to his hair,
her tail tightly wound about his neck, continuing her
stream of defiant cries as if by her fury she could repel
their attackers.

Piemur ran then, pumping his legs as fast as he could, his
lungs straining for breath to sustain the speed. He ran, ex-
pecting momentarily to feel the wherry talons rending his
flesh. But abruptly their cries turned from triumph to fear.
Piemur launched himself into the thick bushes, grabbing at
his queen to keep her secure. Safe under the wide leaves
and among the thick stalks, he turned to see what had
frightened their pursuers. The wherries were flying away
as fast as they could flap their wings, and he had to crane
his neck eastward until he saw a flight of fire lizards ar-
rowing in pursuit of the wherries. Just as he drew back

151

under the concealing bush, he saw five dragons gliding
above the sea.

His queen gave another cry, softer now, in protest that
the fishhead still dangled beyond her reach. Afraid that
somehow the dragons might hear her, he gave her the head,
which she contentedly tore and consumed while Piemur
watched the dragons circling the spot where she had lain
enshelled. Without waiting to see if the dragons landed,
Piemur pushed his way deeper into the jungle, trying to
remember if Menolly had ever said anything about fire liz-
ards tracing newly batched ones.

But fire lizards only knew what they'd seen, and he'd
been undercover by the time the winged rescuers had
reached the lagoon area. The wherries' shrieks would have
masked any sound she'd made, and as Piemur plunged past
thorn trees and undergrowth, her cries became softer. Wea-
riness overcame the last vestiges of her shelling hunger.

Piemur was more aware of her contentedness than his
rasping breath as he continued to put as much distance
between him and the kgoon, and possible discovery, while
light remained to guide him in the murky jungle.

In the same hour Kimi returned with a message from To-
ne, answering the Harper's query about young newcomers
in the southern settlement, the drum beat the news of Lord
Meron's death.

"Eight days it's taken him to die," said the Harper on
the end of a long sigh, "when Master Oldive thought one."

"Determined to disoblige us, I imagine," said Sebell, dis-
missing the man as he concentrated again on Toric's mes-
sage. "No one has applied to him for shelter. There's been
no outburst from the Weyr, which he's certain would have
been made if a stowaway had been discovered. But that
doesn't mean," said Sebell hurriedly, raising his hand to
forestall Menolly's protest, "that Piemur didn't get there.
Toric says that the Weyr has been barred to his holders for
the last sevenday, but his fire lizards imaged a pile of
strange shapes by the Weyrhold, so he suspects that a ship-
ment has arrived from the north. They don't let the mere
holders in the Weyr grounds to celebrate. So if Piemur
smuggled himself out of Nabol Hold in one of the Old-
timers' sacks, he also got out of it and made himself scarce."

152

"Which is sensible of Piemur," said the Harper, idly
twirling his wine glass with one hand. His face was expres-
sionless, but his eyes moved restlessly with his thoughts.
"Piemur would undoubtedly deem it discreet not to come
to the Oldtimers' notice."

"At least not until that egg of his had hatched," added
Menolly. She had so hoped that Piemur would have gone to
Toric. She was Certain he would know that Toric was
friendly with the harpers. She turned to Sebell. "Candler
will let us know the instant the Other eggs from the clutch
have hatched, won't he?"

"Yes, he said he would," the journeyman replied, but
then he made a face, scratching his head. "But we don't
know if that queen egg came from the same clutch as the
Others."

"But we do know the others weren't green's eggs; they
were too big. And that's the only time scale we have to
work with. I'm positive that Piemur won't attempt to seek
anyone out until that egg has hatched and he's Impressed. I
know I wouldn't if I were in Piemur's boots. Oh, I wish I
knew if he were all right." She beat her thighs with her
fists at her helplessness.

"Menolly," said the Harper soothingly, "you're not re-
sponsible for—"

"But I feel responsible for Piemur," she said, and then
shot her Master an apologetic look for interrupting him so
rudely. "If I hadn't encouraged his interest in the fire liz-
ards, if I hadn't filled his ears with the pleasures they
bring, he might not have been tempted to steal that egg
and get himself into such a predicament." She looked up
because both men started to laugh, and she exclaimed with
exasperation at their callousness.

"Menolly Piemur has been getting in and out of trouble
since long before you arrived here," said Sebell. "You and
your fire lizards calmed him down considerably. But I
think you're right about Piemur not showing himself until
Impression's been made. And Toric is on the alert for him.
He'll show up."

"Meanwhile," said the Harper, rising from his chair and
reaching for his flying gear, "I'd best go and assist the new
Lord Deckter to secure his Hold."

153




Chapter 9

Afterward, Piemur wasn't certain why he had run from
the dragonriders. He seemed to have been running from or
to something ever since his voice had changed. In his panic,
he supposed he aligned the Oldtime dragonriders with
Lord Meron, and he did not want to encounter anyone
connected with Lord Meron just then. Whatever, that
night he plunged through the jungle until lack of breath,
the painful stitch in his side and the darkness forced him
to halt. Sulking to the ground, he rearranged his fire lizard
comfortably and then fell asleep.

Just as the sun was rising the next morning, she awoke
him, snappy with hunger. He eased the worst of her pangs
and his own with fresh redfruit, cool from the night air
and succulently sweet. Then he turned north, to make his
way back to the beaches and fish for Farii, for that was
the name he gave his little queen. Pushing his way through
the underbrush, he tripped over a half-eaten runner beast
carcass. Farii chattered with delight and ate flesh from
bone, humming at him in pleasure.

"You'll choke like that," he said, and proceeded to hack
smaller pieces, keeping about one knife slice ahead of her
voracious appetite.

When Farii had curled herself about Piemur's neck,
thoroughly sated, her belly bulging, he sliced more meat
from the dead runner. He figured the creature must have
been killed during Threadfall so the meat wouldn't as yet
be tainted. Not only would it be a welcome change for him
from fish, but red meat was better for Farii as well.

Comforted by her sleeping weight about his neck, Pie-
mur found thick grasses and wove a rough envelope in
which to carry the meat. He estimated he had enough for
several meals for himself and Farii, but if he could cook it,
the meat wouldn't spoil as quickly in the heat.

Continuing on a northwestern course back to the beach,
he collected dry grass and sticks with which to build a
fire. He was still heading generally north when he saw the
unmistakable glint of water through the thinning trees to
his left. He stopped, stared, unable to think bow he could
have mistaken his direction. A lake? However, if water was
this close now. . . .

He pushed his way through the thinning screen of trees
and bush and came out on a small rise. Below him were
wide tidelands, which swept from the forest in an undu-
lating grassy plain, broken by thick clumps of a gray-green
bush. The plain continued on the other side of a broad
river, which gradually widened until, in a distant point
now hazy with heat, it must open its mouth into the sea. A
breeze, scented with an oddly familiar, pungent odor,
dried the sweat on his face. Squinting against the sunlight,
Piemur could see herdbeasts grazing on the lush grass on
both sides of the river. And yet there'd been Thread here
the day before, and no dragonriders flaming to prevent
the deadly stuff burrowing into the ground and eating the
land barren.

As if to reassure himself, he poked at the soil with one of
the sticks he'd collected, lifting up a clod of grass. Grubs
fell from the roots, and Piemur was suitably awed by the
abilities of those little gray wrigglies, which could, all by
themselves, keep such an enormous plain free from the rav-
ages of Thread. And those bloody Oldtimers hadn't so
much as stirred from the Veyr during yesterday's Fall.
They weren't proper dragonriders at all. F'lar and Lessa
had been right to exile them here to the South, where the
insignificant grubs did their work for them. Why, he
could have been killed during that Threadfall, and not a
dragonrider around to protect him. Not, Piemur honestly
admitted, that he hadn't been well able to protect himself.

He gazed across the river, now noticing the swifter
moving current that rippled toward the sea. He'd have
fresh water for drinking here as well as a retreat from
Thread. The jungle behind him would provide fruit and
tubers; the meadow's inhabitants red meat for Farii. There
was no need to trek to the sea again. He could stay here
until Farii had lost the worst of her hatchling appetite.
Then he'd better start back to the Southern Hold. If he

was careful, he could avoid being noticed by the Oldtimers
until he'd made contact with the holder . . . what was
his name? He was certain he'd heard Sebell mention the
man by name. Toric! Yes, that was it. Toric.

He set about making a rough circle of stones to protect
his fire from the breeze, whistling softly.' A fresh breeze
brought him another whiff of that odor, sun-warmed and
so puzzlingly familiar. Whatever it was must be down on
the plain for the wind came from that direction. Leaving
his meat to roast at his fire, Piemur made his way down
the slope, looking about at the tiny blooms in among the
grasses with Thread-pricked blades. He almost passed the
first clump of bushes before he realized that their leaves
were definitely familiar. Familiar, he thought as he reached
out to touch one, but so much larger. He bruised the leaf
as the final test and sure enough, had to jerk his hand back
as his fingers smarted and then lost all feeling. Numb-
weed! The whole plain was dotted with numbweed bushes,
growing bigger and fuller than any he'd ever seen in the
north. Why, if you harvested even one side of this plain,
you'd keep every Weyr on Pern in numbweed for the entire
Pass. Master Oldive ought to know about this place.

A petulant squeak in his ear warned him that Farii had
roused, probably smelling the roasted meat. He carefully
broke off some large numbweed leaves, and wrapping .their
cut stems in a thick blade of grass, returned to the fire.
"When he had given Farii a few half-done pieces of meat,
she was quite content to curl up for the rest of her nap.
Then Piemur bruised a numbweed leaf between two flat,
, clean stones. He nibbed the wet side of the stones against
his cuts, shivering at the slight sting of the raw numbweed
before its anesthetic properties took effect. He was careful
not to rub the stone too deep, for raw numbweed must be
used sparingly or you could get horrible blisters and end up
with scars.

As he settled by the fire to wait for his meat to cook, he
knew he'd be sorry to leave here.

He said that to himself the next morning when he rose,
and that evening when he curled up in the shelter he'd
made for Parii and himself. He really ought to try to get
word back to the Harper Hall.

156

Each day, however, found him too busy catering to the
needs of a' rapidly growing fire lizard to make provisions
for a journey of possibly several days. He spent a whole
day trying to catch a fish for the oils needed to soothe
Farli's flaking skin.

Then Thread fell again. This time he was adequately
prepared, and forewarned. Farii went hysterical with
alarm, her eyes wheeling furiously with the red of anger as
she rose on her wings and, shrieking defiance to the north-
east, suddenly flicked out. When Piemur called her, she
popped back in, scolded him furiously, and then disap-
peared. She had gone between before, inadvertently scared
by some odd noise or other, so that it wasn't until she re-
mained away for much longer than before that Piemur be-
gan to wonder what had frightened her. He looked north-
east, noticing as his eyes swept across the plains, that the
animals were all moving toward the river with considerable
haste. The quick blossom of flame against the sky caught
his eyes, and he saw, not only Thread's gray rain, but the
distant motes of dragons.

He had made preparations against the next Pall of
Thread, determined never to spend another eternity under
a rock ledge. He had found a sunken tree trunk where the
river flowed out of the forest. Diving into the water, he
kicked down to the depth at which drowning Thread
could no longer sting. There he hooked his arm around the
tree trunk and poked back to the surface a thick reed,
through which he then was able to breathe. It was not the
most comfortable of hideaways, and fish constantly mis-
took his arms and legs for outsized Thread so he had to
keep moving. Time, too, seemed motionless, and it felt like
hours had passed before the impact circles of Thread on the
water surface ceased. He was glad when with a mighty
kick of his legs, he burst back into the air, nearly over-
turning a small runner. In fact the shallows seemed to be
blanketed with animals. As if his eruption from the depths
had been a signal, or perhaps his presence had frightened
them, the creatures began to struggle toward the shore,
shake themselves, and then rapidly take off down the
plain. Some were bawling with pain, and he saw a number
with bloody face scores where Thread had stung them. He

257




also noticed some of the injured making to the numbweed
brushes and rubbing against the leaves.

Piemur waded to the bank, calling for Parii -as he sank to
the solid ground. His arms and legs felt leaden from his
efforts to discourage fish from eating him.

Farii burst into view just above him, cluttering with re-
lief and anxiety. She landed on his shoulder, wrapping her
tail about his neck and stroking his cheek with her head,
one paw wrapped around his ear, the other anchored to his
nose. They comforted each other for a long moment. Then
Piemur felt Farli's body go taut. She peered around his face
and began to chatter angrily. Twisting about, at first Pie-
mur saw nothing to alarm him. Parii loosed her hold on his
nose, and he realized that she was pointing skyward. He
saw the wherries then, circling high, and knew that some-
thing had not survived the Fall. If wherries were after it, it
was something that would also feed him and his fire lizard.

Farii seemed as eager as he to beat the wherries to their
victim, and she chattered encouragement as he found a
stout stick and made his way up the riverbank.

Most of the creatures that had taken refuge in the river
had disappeared, but he kept a wary eye for snakes and
large crawlers that might also have found sanctuary in the

nver.

He saw the bulge of the fallen runner beast, half-hidden
under a large numbweed bush. To his surprise, it heaved
upward, its bloodied flank crawling with grubs. The poor
thing couldn't still be alive? He raisedlhis stick to put an
end to the creature's pain when he realized that the move-
ment came from under the animal, spasmodic and desper-
ate. Farii hopped from his shoulder and cluttered, touching
a tiny protruding hoof that Piemur hadn't noticed.

It had been a female runner beast 1 With an exclamation,
Piemur grabbed the hind legs and pulled the corpse from
the youngster the female had given her life to protect from
Thread. Bleating, it staggered to its feet, shedding a carpet
of grubs, and hobbled the few steps to Piemur, its head
and shoulders scored here and there by Thread.

Almost absently, Piemur stroked the furry head and
scratched behind the ear cup, feeling its rough tongue lick-
ing his skin. Then he saw the long shallow scrape on the
little beast's right leg.

158

"So that's why you didn't make it to the river, huh, you
poor stupid thing?" said Piemur, gathering it closer to him.
"And your dam sheltered you with her body. Brave thing
to do." It bleated again, looking anxiously up at him.

Farii chirped and stroked her body against the uninjured
leg before she moved on to start making a meal off the
dead runner. With a sense of propriety, Piemur took the
youngster off to the river to bathe its wound, treat it with
numbweed and wrap it with a broad river plant to keep
off insects. He tethered it with his fishing line and then
went back to slice off enough meat for several meals. The
wherries were closing in.

Farii was sated enough not to resist leaving the carcass.
Nor did she object when Piemur carried little Stupid back
to their forest shelter.

As Piemur settled down to sleep that night, he had Stu-
pid curled tightly against him along his back and Parii
draped across his shoulders. He had fully intended to use
the interval between this Fall and the next to make his way
to the Southern Hold, but he really couldn't leave Stupid,
crippled as well as motherless. The leg would heal with care
and rest. Once Stupid was walking easily, after the next
Threadfall, he would definitely make tracks to Southern.

Despite the lateness of the hour, the Masterharper could see
light coming from his study window as he wearily made
his way from the meadow where Uoth and N'ton had just
left him. He was very tired, but well satisfied with the
results of his efforts over the last four days. Zair, balanc-
ing on his shoulder, cheeped an affirmative. Robinton
smiled to himself and rubbed the little bronze's neck.

"And Sebell and Menolly are going to be satisfied, too,
Unless, of course, there has been word from that scamp
that they haven't been able to send me."

He saw the half of the great Hall door swing into dark-
ness and wagered with himself who waited for him there in
the dark.

"Master?"

He was right; it was Menolly.

"You were away so long, Master," she cried in   soft
voice as she closed the door behind him and spun the wheel
to lock the bolts tightly in floor and ceiling.

159




"Ah, but I've accomplished much. Any news from Pie-
mur?"

"No," and her shoulders drooped noticeably. "We
would've sent you word instantly."

He put his arm around her slender shoulders comfort-
ingly. "Is Sebell awake as well?"

"Yes, indeed!" She gave a chuckle. "N'ton sent Tris to
warn us. Or you'd've been locked out of your own Hall."

"Not for long, my dear girl, not for long!"

They were climbing the steps now, and he noticed that
she slowed her pace to match his. He was tired, true, but,
worse, he no longer commanded the resilience that made no
bother of late hours.

"Lord Groghe was back two days ago. Master. Vhy did
you have to stay so long at Nabol?" He felt her shoulders
give a convulsive shudder under his arm. "I wouldn't
have stayed at that place a moment longer than I had to."

"Not the most of congenial of Holds, to be sure. I can't
think what can have happened to all the wine Lord Fax
appropriated in his conquests. He had some good pressings,
too. Meron can't have drunk it all in a bare thirteen or
fourteen Turns."

"You'd no Benden wine, then?" Menolly teased him.

"None, you unfeeling wretch."

"Then I'm more amazed than ever that you stayed so
long."

"I had to!" he replied, amazed at the irritation in his
voice. But they had reached his rooms now, and he opened
the door, grateful for the sight of the familiar disorder of
his workroom and the welcoming smile on Sebell's face.
The journeyman was on his feet, helping his master out of
his flying gear and guiding him to a chair, while Menolly
poured a goblet of a decent Benden wine.

"Now, sir, have you a tale to tell?" asked Sebell, lightly
taunting with his Master's usual greeting. "Could we not
have come to Nabol and helped speed matters?"

"I would have thought you'd seen enough of Nabol
Hold to last a Turn or two," said Master Robinton, sipping
at his wine.

"He's got news, Sebell," said Menolly, narrowing her
eyes to glare at her master. "I can tell that look on his face.

160

Smug, that's what he is. Did you learn what happened to
Piemur at Nabol?"

"No, I'm afraid I didn't find out about Piemur, but
among other, equally important, things, I have arranged
matters so that we don't have to worry about Nabol Hold
supplying the Oldtimers with northern goods or receiving a
further embarrassing riches of fire lizard eggs in' that other-
wise impoverished Hold."

"Then, none of the disappointed heirs caused trouble
during the confirmation?" asked Sebell.

Master Robinton waggled his fingers, a sly smile on his
face. "Not to speak of, though Hittet is a master of the
snide remark. They could scarcely contend the nomination,
since it had been made before such notable witnesses. Be-
sides, I never bothered to disabuse them of the notion that
Benden and the other Lord Holders would call the heir to
account for the sins of his predecessor." Master Robinton
beamed at the reactions of his journeyman to his strategy.
"It afforded me considerable pleasure to help the new
Lord Deckter send the worthless lot back to improve their
beggared holds."

"And Lord Deckter?" asked Sebell.

"A good choice, however unwilling. I pointed out to
him, adroitly, that if he merely regarded his Hold as a flag-
ging business and applied the same ingenuity and industry
with which he had built a flourishing carting trade, he
would find that the Hold would respond and repair. I also
pointed out that in his four sons he has able assistants and
ministers, a fortune few Lords can enjoy. However, he did
have one matter he was particularly anxious to resolve."
The Harper paused. He looked at the expectant faces. "A
matter that just happens to march kindly with a problem
we face." He turned to Menolly. "You'd best ready that
boat of yours. . . ." he had started referring to her skiff
in that manner after he and Menolly had been storm-lost
on his one voyage to the southern hold the previous Turn.
Now Menolly's face brightened, and Sebell sat up straight,
eyes wide with anticipation. "We won't locate Piemur by
whistling for him from the north. You two go south. Make
certain that Toric lets the Oldtimers know, if you can't
carry the message discreetly to them yourselves, that Meron

161

is dead and that his successor supports Benden Weyr. I
believe that Master Oldive wants you to bring back some
of those herbs and powders. He used up a large portion of
his supplies on Meron.

"But don't you dare return until you've found Piemur."

Chapter 10

Stupid bleated, his rump, as he struggled to his feet, push-
ing sharply into Piemur's belly. Curled on Piemur's shoul-
der, Farii gave a sleepy complaint, which rapidly changed
to a squeak of alarm. Piemur rolled over, away from both
his friends for fear of injuring either and got stiffly to his
feet. There wasn't anything alarming in the clearing about
his small shelter but, as his eyes swung about, he caught the
unexpected distant blur of bright red on the river. Star-
tled, he brushed aside an obscuring bough and saw, just
where the river began to narrow between the plains, three
single-masted ships, carrying brilliant red sails. Even as he
watched in surprise, the ships altered course, their red sails
flapping as they were first turned into the wind and then
were carried by momentum up onto the muddy beach.

Fascinated at the sight of ships on his river, Piemur
moved further from his shelter, stroking to reassure Farii,
who chittered questions at him. He was marginally con-
scious of Stupid brushing against his bare leg as he reached
the outermost screen of trees. Not that anyone from the
ships could possibly see him at this distance. He watched,
as one will review a dream, while people jumped out of the
ships: men, women and children. Sails were furled fully,
not just thrown across the boom. A line was formed to con-
vey bundles and packages from the ships across the muddy
beach to the higher, dry banks. Holdless men from the north?
wondered Piemur. But surely he'd heard that they were
passed through Toric first, so that their inclusion in the
Southern Hold was unobstrusive and the Oldtimers had no
cause to complain. Whoever these people were, they looked
as if they intended to stay awhile.

As Piemur continued to watch the disembarkation, he
became aware of a growing sense of indignation that any-
one would dare invade his privacy, would have the audac-

163

ity to make a camp and set up cooking fires -with great
kettles balanced on spits across the flames, just as if they
belonged here. This was his river, and Stupid's grazing
grounds. HisI Not theirs to litter with tent, kettle and
fire!

"What if the Oldtimers just happened to fly this way?
There'd be trouble. Didn't those folk know any better?
Setting up in the sight of everything?

Farii distracted li'm by protesting her hunger. Stupid
had fallen to his customary sampling of every type of green-
ery in his immediate area. Absently, Piemur reached in the
pouch at his belt for a handful of nutmeats he'd kept there
to pacify Farli. Daintily she took the offerings, but in-
formed him with a querulous cheep that this had better not
be all she was given to eat that morning.

Piemur chewed on a nut himself, trying to figure out
who these people were and what they were about. One
group was now separating itself from those bustling about
tents or filling the huge kettles with water drawn from the
river. This group moved purposefully toward the far end
of the field and then the individuals spread out. Long
chopping blades flashed in the sun, and suddenly Piemur
knew who they were and what they were doing.

Southerners had come to harvest the numbweed bushes,
now full of sap and strong with the juice that eased pain.
He wrinkled his nose in disgust: it'd take them days to
harvest that field; and each kettleful would require three
days of stewing to reduce the tough plant to pulp. Another
day would be required to strain the pulp, and the juice had
to be simmered down to the right consistency to make the
numbweed salve. Piemur knew that Master Oldive took the
purest of the resultant salve and did something else with it
to make it a powder for internal use.

He sighed deeply, because the intruders would be here
for days and days. The camp may have been set up a good
hour's walk from him and undoubtedly he could keep
from being noticed. He wouldn't escape however, even at
this distance, from the stench of boiling numbweed, for
that smell was pervasive, and the prevailing breeze right
now was from the sea. It was infuriating to be forced out
of his place just when he'd gotten everything arranged to
his convenience so that he could feed himself, Farli and

164




Stupid, had shelter from the tropical storms at night and
safety from Threadfall whenever it came.

Then it occurred to him that perhaps these weren't
Southerners, but a work party from the north. He knew
that Master Oldive preferred southern grown herbs; that
was why Sebell had made that trip not long ago to bring
back sacks and sacks of medicinal things. Surely he'd
brought enough or maybe this was a new arrangement with
the Oldtimers, who surely couldn't object to the Healer.

But northern ships had many-colored sails; Menolly had
told him that seaholders prided themselves on the intricacy
of their sail patterns. Plain red sail did suggest Southerners,
whom everyone knew broke northern tradition whenever
possible. Also those work groups were moving with the fa-
miliarity of much practice.

Piemur grinned to himself. One thing sure, he wasn't
going to announce his presence right now. Sure as eggs
hatched, he'd get himself included in harvesting numb-
weed. He'd just take what he needed and work around
them, through the forest, until he got to the seashore, well
east of them. And well away from the stink of boiling
numbweed.

So he made a neat bundle of his woven mat and tied it
with a vine thong, ignoring the cluttering of Farli, who
disapproved of his activity and of the fact that he was
ignoring her gradually more insistent requests for food. He
stared at the walls of his little shelter and decided that
there was just the chance that someone might hunt in the
forest and discover his rude hold. He dismantled the sheets
of woven grass and hid them in the thick leaves of nearby
bushes. He couldn't remove the clearing he'd made, but he
scuffed up the tamped-down earth and scattered dead
fronds here and there so that a casual glance would make it
appear a natural clearing. He silenced Farli's now-urgent
complaints by heading for the river. His fish trap, tied to
his sunken Thread-tree, held more than enough to feed her
amply. He gutted what remained after she was sated, and
wrapping them in broad leaves, added that to his bundle.
He hesitated a few moments before tossing the fish trap
back into the water. Surely no one would notice it unless
someone tripped over the silly thing, which seemed highly
unlikely, and the fish it captured wouldn't suffer. He'd

165

leave it, and then he'd have ample eating when he returned
here.

He made his way through the forest, skirting the wide
plain, pausing to drink when he crossed a small contribu-
tory stream and to let Stupid rest awhile. The little fellow's
short legs tired quickly, and while the creature was no
great weight, he did seem to get heavier on those occasions
when Piemur took pity and carried him awhile, parii flit-
ted ahead of them and behind, venturing up through the
trees into the sky occasionally, twittering a scold that Pie-
mur didn't understand but assumed was directed at the
invaders.

"At least, you're not afraid of them," said Piemur, when
she returned to her perch on his shoulder, begging caresses.
She leaned against his finger as he stroked her neck, mur-
muring sweetly for him to continue, and she twined her
tail lightly about his neck. "If only they weren't making
numbweed, I'd be willing to introduce us all."

Or would he? Piemur wondered.

It'would have been so simple to go down and find out if
they were Southerners. Imagine their surprise when he wan-
dered in, as easy as you please. They'd be startled, they
would! And amazed when he told them his adventures
here in the south. Yes, but then they'd want to know how
he'd got here, and he wasn't at all certain he ought to tell
the exact truth. Surely it wasn't unusual for a bold holdless
man to try to sneak south, particularly if he had merited
his Holder's displeasure! Piemur didn't have to mention
that he'd acquired Farii in the North and certainly not
that he'd removed her from Meron's hearth in Nabol
Hold. Southerners would naturally assume that he'd found
the little queen fire lizard here in some beach clutch. Stu-
pid's acquisition posed no problem at all. He could tell the
truth there. Piemur could always pretend that he didn't
know where the Southern Hold was, and had been end-
lessly searching. Yes, that was it, he could say he'd stolen a,
small boat and had had an absolutely ghastly trip south,
which was only the truth. Yes, but where had he sailed
from? Ista? That was too small a hold to steal a boat from.
Igen? Maybe even Keroon? The Southerners were not likely
to check with anyone . . .

"Hello! What are you doing sneaking around here?"

166

A tall girl stepped into his path, blocking his way. On
one shoulder was a bronze fire lizard, on the other a
brown, both eyeing Farii intently. She let out an apologetic
squak, as startled as Piemur. As she also dug her talons into
his shoulder and tightened her tail about his neck, all that
came out of his mouth was a choked cry of astonishment.
A quick chirp from the little bronze caused Farii to relax
her tail. Piemur turned his head toward her, annoyed that
she hadn't warned him.

"It's not her fault," said the girl with a wide smile, eas-
ing her weight to one leg as she enjoyed Piemur's discomfi-
ture. She had a pack strapped to her shoulders; a belt with
a variety of pouches, some empty; dark hair wrapped with
a band tightly about her head so strands wouldn't tangle
in branches; and thick-soled sandals on her feet as well as
shin guards tied about her lower legs. "Meer," and she in-
dicated the bronze, "and Talla know how to be silent when
they wish. And when they realized that she was already
Impressed, we all wanted to see who had got a gold. I'm
Sharra from the Southern Hold." She held out her hand,
palm up. "How'd you get down here? Ve didn't see any
wreckage as we came along the coast."

"I've been here three Threadfalls already," said Piemur,
crossing her palm quickly in case she was the sort of person
who sensed when someone lied. "Landed up near the big
lagoon." Which was also partially true.

"Near the big lagoon?" Sharra's face expressed concern.
"Then you weren't alone? The others were killed? That la-
goon is treacherous in high tide. You don't see the outside
shelf of rocks until you're right on them."

"I guess being little, I sort of slid over okay." Piemur
felt it was safe to seem sorrowful.

"That's all past history for you, lad," said Sharra, her
deep, musical voice compassionate. "If you survived the
southern seas, and three Threadfalls holdless, I'd say you
belong in the south."

"I belong here?" Suddenly the prospect heartened Pie-
mur. Sharra was as perceptive as the Harper. The thought
of being permitted to stay on in this beautiful land, walk-
ing where no one else, maybe not even Sharra, had ever
trod before, made Piemur's heart tip over.

167

"Yes, I'd say you belonged," said Sharra, wide mouth
curled in a smile. "So, what name shall I call you by?"

If she hadn't given him the option to state a name, any
name, not necessarily his own, Piemur might have prevari-
cated. Instead, he answered her with a grin. "I'm Piemur
of Pern."

Sharra threw back her head and laughed at his audacity,
but she also laid her arm about his shoulders and gave him
a companionable squeeze.

"I like you, Piemur of Pern. Vhat have you named your
little queen? Farii? That's a pretty name, and is that little
runner beast a friend of yours, too?"

"Stupid? Yes, but he's just joined us. His mother was
threadscored last Fall, but he keeps up with us—"

"Keeps up with you? You mean, you saw the ships
land?"

"Sure. Saw 'em going to harvest numbweed, too."

Sharra laughed again at the intense disgust in his tone,
and Piemur found himself grinning at the infectiousness of
her humor. "And that decided you to make tracks away
from wherever you were? Can't blame you, Piemur of
Pem." Her eyes glinted with humor and she added in a
conspiratorial tone. "I make it my special job to gather
Other leaves and herbs that grow in this area. Generally
takes me the entire time they're rendering the numbweed."

"I wouldn't mind helping you with that, you know,"
suggested Piemur, slyly giving her a look. He was only just
aware of how much he had missed the interchange with
someone of like mind.

"I'd be glad of the right sort of help. And you'll have to
keep up with me. I've got a lot to do while they muck
about with the numbweed. There's a northern Healer who's
sent me a special request."

"I thought you Southerners kept away from the north?"
Piemur decided it was time to be ignorantly discreet.

"'Well, there are some things that need to be traded back
and forth."

"But I thought Benden Veyr doesn't permit—"

"Dragonriders, yes," and there was curious tone in her
voice when she said "dragonriders" that caught Piemur's
quick ear. It was a mocking derision that surprised him,

168

accustomed as he was to the respect with which all dragon-
riders—except the Southern Oldtimers—were treated. But
Sharra meant the Southern Oldtimers when she said "dragon-
riders." "No, we trade with Northerners." Again that
odd derision, as if Northerners weren't up to southern
standards. "All manner of southern plants grow bigger and
better than the same things in your old north. Numbweed,
for one, feather herb and tuft grass for fever, red wort for
infection, pink root for bellyache, oh all manner of things."

She had begun to walk now, gesturing Piemur to follow
her deeper into the forest, her stride swinging as if she
knew exactly where she was going in the tangled depths,
had traveled this way many times before.

At some stages of the next few days, Piemur had occa-
sion to regret not harvesting numbweed, a comparatively
simple task compared to Sharra's search, which included
digging, scrambling under thorny bushes that scratched his
back raw, and climbing trees for parasitic growths. He felt
he had found a taskmaster in her equal to old Besel at Na-
bol Hold. However, a taskmaster far more interesting, for
Sharra talked about the properties and virtues of the roots
for which they dug, the leaves for which they climbed only
the healthiest of trees, well-sheltered from the worst rav-
ages of Threadfall, or equally elusive herbs that lived ob-
scurely where other bushes had thorns to scratch. Sharra
had a wherhide jacket with her, but he had nothing to
shield him from lacerations. She was quite ready and pre-
pared to daub him with numbweed whenever necessary,
but she did have to point out that his size made him the
logical person to pursue the shyest herbs in their protective
environment. Nothing would permit Piemur to lose honor
in Sharra's eyes.

The first evening, she built a tiny, hot fire, knowing
which of the southern woods burned best, and cooked him
the finest eating he'd had since he'd left the Harper Hall;

his contribution was fish and hers a combination of tubers
and herbs. The three fire lizards devoured their portions of
the stew with as much gusto as he did.

To Piemur's pleased surprise, Sharra did not question
him again about his journey south nor his imaginary com-
panions. When she commented on his knowledgeable han-

169




dling of little Stupid, he did admit to having been a herds-
man's boy in mountain holds. Otherwise Sharra seemed
determined to introduce him to the south and gave him
endless lectures on its beauties and advantages. She told
him of explorations up the river—his river—which had
ended in an unnavigable and dangerous marshland of tre-
mendous breadth. The explorers had reluctantly decided
that rather than get lost one by one up blind waterways
they had better abandon the search until they could make
an aerial survey of the area; a survey unlikely to be accom-
plished until one of the Oldtimers boredly agreed to the
outing.

Piemur hadn't been in Sharra's company for more than
several hours before he learned how poor her opinion was of
dragonriders. While he had to agree to her estimate of the
Oldtimers, he found it very difficult not to call N'ton to
her as comparison. He felt he was being disloyal to the Fort
Veyrleader when he forced himself to keep silent. But a
favorable mention of N'ton might bring a query as to how
he, a lowly herdsman's boy, came to know so much about a
Veyrleader.

Sharra had a light blanket, which she was quite willing
to share with Piemur at night. She also acquainted him
with the thick bush leaves, which made a more fragrant
and comfortable bedding than the springier fronds he'd
been using. The leaves also had no tendency to drive an-
noying splinters into soft flesh.

Sharra knew a great deal, Piemur realized, for she also
had him feeding Stupid on a particular plant that would
make up for the lack of nourishment from his dead
mother. Piemur would never have known that that was
why Stupid had browsed so continuously; a dietary in-
stinct rather than an insatiable appetite.

The second day, after a light meal of fruit and tubers,
which Sharra had baked in the ashes of the fire, the two
continued on a steady course south. The thick forest gave
occasionally onto grassy meadows, dotted with herdbeasts
and runners who would gallop wildly away when the first
scent of the humans reached them. By the middle of the
next day, they had reached higher ground, more frequently
broken by meadows, until suddenly, they came to a low

170

bluff, as if the land had suddenly fallen away from the
level on which they stood. Below, stretching to the far
hazy horizon, was a marshland, fingered with black strips
of water, which wove and disappeared about the clumps of
drier land on which grew giant bushes of stiff, tuft-
topped grasses.

"'We were well met, Piemur," said Sharra. "With you to
help, we can get twice as much, manage a larger raft with
two to steer it, and return down the river to the ships in
very good time. But not," she grinned down at him, "until
they've had time to barrel the numbweed. Here's what we
do now."

She showed him, by a map she scratched in the dirt at
their feet with her knife belt, and by pointing in the ap-
propriate directions. The third large channel to their right
was actually the river that led to the sea. That much the
earlier exploration had determined. There was plenty of the
valuable tuft grasses between the bluff and that safe, third
channel. They would be able to half-swim, half-wade
across, the intervening channels, using the fire lizards to
scare away the water snakes, which could wring the blood
out of a person's arm or leg. Piemur didn't believe that
water snakes could grow that big, but he had to credit her
warning when she showed him the fine band of puncture
marks on her left arm where a water snake had wound its
coils and left the myriad points of its toe-teeth. Not a den-
izen of these parts, Sharra assured him blithely, and
brushed aside his pity by saying that the marks would fade
gradually. Then she suggested that, being taller, she'd bet-
ter carry Stupid across the waters on her shoulders.

As they reached each grassy island, they cut the tufts
from the grass for the therapeutic seeds that grew along
each stem. The larger branches were laid aside and tied in
bundles to be bound together for the raft. Sharra said that
the branches absorbed water gradually, but the raft would
float long enough to get them safely to the river's mouth.
The heart of the grass plant, just above the root ball, was
its most important part. This was dried and pounded into
a powder that was the best medicine known for reducing
fever, especially firehead fever, about which Piemur had
never heard. Sharra told him that it seemed to occur only

171

in the south, and generally only during the first month of
the spring season, now well past. Something, they thought,
rolled up on the spring tides so that beaches were avoided
during that month by everyone.

Piemur might have avoided both numbweed stench and
water snake puncture, but he certainly worked as hard be-
side Sharra, as he had that one day in Nabol Hold, a day
that seemed to belong to another boy entirely, not this one
that was alternately soaked and dried to parchment as they
harvested the precious fruits of the swamp grass.

The fourth day they made the raft, binding layer after
layer of the grass stalks and then forcing them into a
vaguely boatlike shape by tying the ends into stubby
prows, leaving a central hollow for their precious cargo and
Stupid.

Sharra had taught her fire lizards to hunt when they
were in the wild, but she had also managed to train them
to bring their catch to her. They returned that fourth eve-
ning with the strangest-looking creature Piemur had ever
seen. Sharra identified it as a whersport. It was far too
small to be like the watchwhers that Piemur knew as noc-
turnal hold guardians in the north, but it was bigger than
fire lizards, which it also somewhat resembled. Fortunately
it was almost dead when the delighted Meer and Talla de-
posited it on the ground by Sharra's feet. She dispatched it
with a deft prick of her knife and, grinning at Piemur for
his horrified expression, proceeded to disembowel it, throw-
ing the offal far out into the black waters, which ruffled
briefly as the snakes took the offering.

"May look a sight, but roasted in its skin, a whersport is
very good eating. So, we'll stuff it with a bit of white
tuber and some grass shoots, and we'll have a meal fit for a
Lord Holder."

When she saw Piemur's dubious expression as she com-
pleted her arrangements, she laughed.

"There're a lot of strange beasties in this part of the
south. As if all the animals you have up north got mixed
up somehow. A whersport isn't a fire lizard, and it isn't a
wher. For one thing it's a daytime beast, and whers are
nocturnal; sun blinds them. Then there's far more varie-
ties of snake here than in the north. Or so I'm told. Some-
times I'd like to go north, just to see all the differences,

772

but then again," and Sharra shrugged, her eyes wandering
over the lush, deserted and strangely beautiful marshlands,
"this is where I hold. I haven't seen half enough of it yet to
begin to appreciate all its complexity." She pointed due
south with her bloody knife blade. "There're mountains
down there that never lose their snow. Not that I've seen
snow, on them or on the ground, though my brother has
told me about it. I wouldn't like to be as cold as he says it
gets in the north when there is snow on the ground."

"Oh, it's not bad," replied Piemur reassuringly and a
trifle pleased to be able to talk on a subject he did know,
"rather invigorating, in fact, cold is. Snows are fun, too.
Then you don't have to—" He caught himself. He'd been
about to say "you didn't have to report to all work sections
at the Harper Hall." "—do as much work."

Sharra didn't seem to notice his brief hesitation or that
he had substituted another phrase. She gave him a grin.

"We don't always work this hard in Southern, either,
Piemur; but now it's time to harvest numbweed and get
the .tuft seeds and bush hearts. If we didn't have them. . . ."
and she shrugged to indicate a very unpleasant alterna-
tive. Then she made a trench in the red ashes of their fire,
lined it with thick water plant leaves, which began to hiss
and exude a steamy fragrance, deftly inserted the stuffed
whersport, folded over the leaves, then carefully knifed the
hot ashes in place, and sat back. "There. Dinner won't be
long, and there's enough for all."

173




Chapter 11

Once out of the grip of the Great Current, Sebell wrestled
•with the gaudy striped mainsail, untying it from the run-
ners on the boom and folding it away neatly in its bag.
Then he and Menolly bent the bright red southern sail to
the boom and mast. Practice had made it a smooth opera-
tion, though the Erst time Menolly and.Jhe had changed
the sail halfway to the Southern Continent, it had taken
them hours, with him cursing at his ineptness and she pa-
tiently explaining the trick.

No sooner had they hauled the red sail up the mast than
the wind, which had so favored their journey, dropped to a
toere whisper.

With a sigh, Menolly surveyed the bright blue and
cloudless sky and then laughed as she sank to the deck by
the all but motionless tiller handle.

"Wouldn't you just know?"

"All right, weather eye, breeze at sunset?"

"Possibly, usually does come up again, then," she replied,
squinting up to see what made Sebell so irritable.

"Sorry, Menolly," he said, running his hand through
wind-disheveled hair. He dropped to the deck beside her.

"You're not worried about Piemur, are you? Something
you've kept from me?"

"No, girl, I've kept nothing from you." Her anxious
query seemed at this moment more of an accusation to him
than a plea for reassurance, and he had answered with more
asperity than was customary for him. She was quiet,
though he could sense her confusion at his manner; he was
unable to explain it to himself. "I didn't mean to snap,
Menolly," he said, realizing that she wouldn't speak until
he had. "I just don't know what's gotten into me. I hon-
estly believe we'll find Piemur in the south."

174




"Maybe we ought to have taken someone else to help
with the sailing—"

"No, no, it's not that!" Again his tone was churlish. He
bit his lips together, took a deep breath and carefully
added, "You know I like sailing. Better, I like sailing with
you alone!" That came out sounding more like himself, and
he gave her a smile.

Menolly started to respond to his oblique apology, but
then stared at his face, her eyes widening. Suddenly, she
glanced skyward, where the fire lizards were aerially fol-
lowing the skiff in swoops and glides. She watched them
for a long moment, frowning slightly as she saw one dive
into the waves. Sebell, puzzled by her abrupt curiosity,
identified the fisher as his own Kimi and smiled indul-
gently as she brought the neatly captured yellowtail back
to the prow of the ship. Oddly, the others stayed aloft
while Kimi tore savagely into the flesh of her still-strug-
gling prey.

Sebell wondered why the other three fire lizards didn't
come to share the feast, but the thought didn't absorb him
long. The ferocity with which Kimi ate fascinated him; he
felt as if he were somehow involved in tearing the strips, as
if he could savor the warm salty flesh in his mouth, as if—

"I'm sending Beauty to Toric at Southern Hold. She
can't stay here now, Sebell."

Sebell heard Menolly's voice but made no sense of the
words, his entire attention was concentrated on the un-
usual actions of his fire lizard queen. He wanted, to go to
her, but he couldn't move. He found that he was alter-
nately clenching his hands and then rubbing his sweating
palms against his legs. He was unbearably hot and tore at
his shirt to open the throat.

"Oh!" he heard Menolly exclaim. "Oh, what else can I
do? I can't send Rocky and Diver away. That's not fair to
Kimi. "We're too far from land to raise more fire lizards,
and there's not a breath of wind to attract them here!"

Sebell pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside. The cool-
ness of the day seemed to have no effect on the heat that
consumed him. Then he noticed the two bronze fire liz-
ards, crouching on the roof of the small cabin. They made
no attempt to join Kimi in her feast. She was growling,

175

too, her eyes glowing orangely at the two impertinent
bronzes, and she seemed to be glowing in the sunlight.

Glowing? Unwilling to share food? What had Menolly
mumbled about sending Beauty away? And to Toric? Why
would she send Toric another message? What was the mat-
ter with Kimi?

He wanted to reprimand her but could frame no mes-
sage in his mind. And why were those bronzes waiting?
Why didn't they go away and leave Kimi? Why . . . ?

The "why" suddenly penetrated Sebell's fire-lizard-
linked confusion. Kimi eating alone, savagely; Menolly
sending Beauty, another queen, away; Kimi, glowing
golden and taunting the bronzes, her good friends, with
her staring, whirling orage-red eyes! Kimi was about to
By. And it was Menolly's bronzes who would fly her. A
surge of elation swept Sebell, who could scarcely believe his
good fortune. And yet . . .

"Menolly?" He turned to her, hands outstretched, palms
up, pleading with her and apologizing for what he knew
was about to happen since there were only the two of them
on this becalmed boat in the middle of the windstill sea.
He hadn't wanted Menolly coerced, as she now must be;

he'd wanted to be in full command of himself, not over-
riden by the mating instinct of Kimi.

"It's all right, Sebell. It's all right."

Smiling, Menolly put her hands in his and let herself be
drawn into his arms where he had so yearned to have her.

As if their contact had been a signal, Kimi uttered a
shriek and flung herself skyward from the prow, the two
bronze fire lizards a length behind her. Sebell wasn't
standing on the deck with Menolly in his arms; he was
with Kimi, exulting in her strength, in her flight, deter-
mined to outsmart those who pursued her. Just let them
try to catch her!

Never had her wings responded so fully to her demands.
Never had she flown so high, soaring, veering, gliding. The
sun flowed across her body, its rays burning into her eyes
as she flew on and ever upward. The heat was unendurable.
She glided obliquely to the right, caught movement be-
low her and, sweeping her wings back, dropped down,
screaming with delight as she fell between the two startled
bronzes.

176

One of them tried to entangle her with his lashing tail
and fell, his flight rhythm disrupted. She beat upward
again, calling defiance and deliberately cutting across the
path of the second bronze. But, in her desire to flaunt her
flight superiority, she brushed just too close to him, and he
veered, jamming his wing tip against hers. Her forward
speed was momentarily checked. Before she could get away
from him, he had caught her, neck twining hers in that
instant. Locked together, they fell toward the shimmering
sea so far below.

On the tiny bright oblong that was but a mote on the
glistening water, Sebell and Menolly, too, were together,
lips, bodies, hearts and minds as they, linked by and in the
love of their fire lizards, experienced and repeated the joy
that enveloped Kimi and Diver.

The flapping of the untended sail roused Sebell first, the
rising sea breeze cooling his cheek. He moved aside, shaking
his head, trying to orient himself. Menolly stirred against
him, awakened by the same sea sounds. Startled, she opened
her eyes and saw him, propped on his elbow above her. Sur-
prise, and then memory, changed the color of her sea green
eyes. Holding his breath, Sebell watched, fearful of her re-
action. Her smile was tender as she lifted her hand and
brushed 'his hair back from his eyes.

"What chance did you have, dear Sebell, with Rocky
and Diver so determined?"

"It wasn't just Kurd's need," he said in a hurried voice,
"you know that, don't you?"

"Of course, I know, dear Sebell." Her fingers lingered
on his cheek, his lips. "But you always stand back and de-
fer to our Master." She did not hide from Sebell then how
much she loved Master Robinton, nor would that ever
come between them since they each loved the man in their
separate ways. ". . . but I have so wished—"

The ominous creak of the boom swinging across the
cockpit warned her just in time to pull him back against
her, out of its way.

"I wish," said Sebell in a growl, "that the bloody wind
didn't choose to rise right now."

"We need the wind, Sebell," she replied, laughing with a
spontaneous gaiety that drew a laugh from him because

177

they had finally spoken of what had kept them apart too
long.

He put up his hand to grab the boorn before it could
swing back. She half rose and reached the lines to secure
the boom, then pulled herself onto the seat to unlash the
tiller. As Sebell rose to join her, he caught sight of a curled
ball of bronze and gold on the forward deck, but Kimi
and Diver were too soundly asleep to be roused by consid-
erations of sea and wind. He envied them.

"Where did Rocky go?" he asked Menolly, who frowned
slightly in thought.

"He either joined Beauty ... or found himself a wild
green. I suspect the latter."

"Wouldn't you know?" asked Sebell, surprised.

Menolly shook her head from side to side, with a half-
smile, and Sebell realized that she'd been unaware of any-
thing except their rapport with their two fire lizards. He
relaxed, thoroughly content with their new understanding.

"If this breeze continues to follow, we'll make Southern
by tomorrow high sun," she said and deftly played out the
line, making the most of the wind that filled the red sail.
Then she indicated that Sebell should bridge the distance
between them in the cockpit.

Neither left each other for very long all through that
brilliant, lovely night.

Menolly's sea-sense was acute, for the sun had just
reached its zenith when they eased the little skiff into the
pleasant cove that served the Southern Hold as harbor. Se-
bell counted the ships bobbing at anchor and wondered
where the largest three vessels were. They'd seen none fish-
ing as the Great Eastern Current had raced them toward
their destination. Not that Sebell expected anyone in the
Southern Hold to be moving about in the heavy heat of
high sun.

Suddenly Beauty appeared, cluttering a wild welcome.
Rocky arrived more sedately, settling on the tied boom.
Menolly scooped him from his perch and caressed him,
murmuring loving reassurances until Sebell heard her
laugh.

"What's so amusing?"

"He must have found a green. He looks far too smug,
but he's trying to make me feel guiltyl"

17S

"Not your fault Diver lived up to his name!"

"Hello down there!" The loud hail attracted their atten-
tion up to the small precipice that bulged out above the
harbor. The tall, tanned figure of the Southern Holder,
Toric, waved an imperious arm at them. "No use swelter-
ing! Come where it's cool!"

With Beauty and Rocky as escort, they waded ashore,
leaving Kimi and Diver still asleep. Sebell firmly captured
Menolly's hand as they raced across the hot sand to the
steps that would lead to the top of the white stone cliff,
which rose above the sea to make a safehold for its inhabi-
tants.

Toric was gone from the halfway lookout when they
reached it, but they were both accustomed to the southern-
er's habits, and indeed, it was only sensible to get out of
the burdening heat.

Toric had been able to keep the lush vegetation of the
south only so far from the entrance to the cool white caves
by strewing the area deeply with seashells. The crunch and
break of shell also served to warn the hold of visitors. To-
ric awaited them just inside the hold's entrance, gripping
each by the arm with fingers that threatened to leave
bruise marks.

"You were mighty short on words with that message
Beauty bore me," he said as he escorted them to his private
quarters.

The Southern Hold differed from northern ones in many
respects, and, at this time of day, was uninhabited. The
large low cavern was used for mealtimes, bad storms or
Threadfall. The Southerners preferred to live apart, in shel-
ters set in the shade of the thick forest of the bluff. When
the wind was from the wrong quarter, this cavern could be
breathlessly- hot. Today, however, as Toric handed them
each long tubes of cooled fruit juices, the temperature was
a distinct drop from the heat without.

"To expand on Beauty's terse message," said Sebell,
without the usual harper preambles, for Toric was a blunt-
spoken man and appreciated the same in return. "Meron is
dead and his successor. Lord Deckter, wishes it clearly un-
derstood that he is in no way to be bound by previous
commitments."

179




"Fair enough. I'd expected it. Mardra and T'kul won't
like it, and they may try Deckter's resolve—"

"He'll remain firm—"

"So he has no problem." Then Toric laughed to himself,
shaking his head from side to side in his amusement. "No,
Mardra -won't like it, but it'll do the old one good to be
thwarted. She was going to give Meron every dead fire
lizard egg she could find for sending her a half-empty
sack."

"Half-empty?" Sebell caught Menolly's eye.

"Yes, the sack arrived with the top loosened and she's
certain some of the shipment, some materials she's been
plaguing the Masterweaver for, dropped out between.
Why?" Toric caught the significant glances between the
harpers. "Oh, that missing lad you queried me about sev-
eral sevendays back? You tl-nnfe he came south in it?"

"It's a possibility."

"Never occurred to me to connect the two before now."
Toric stroked his cheek thoughtfully. "A small lad? Yes,
he'd doubtless have fit in that sack. Anything else about
him I should know perhaps?"

Sebell thought how like Toric to want answers before he
gave his own.

"A queen fire lizard egg was involved. . . ."

"Oh ho," and Toric's eyes crinkled with satisfaction.
"Then it's not a possibility anymore, but a probability that
your lad got here." He stressed the word "got," strangely,
but went on before Sebell could question his emphasis.
"Four, no three Threadfalls ago, weyrmen went after a
wherry circle. Most of the time that means fire lizard
hatchings so they do stir themselves to investigate." Toric
gave a sour laugh. "Not that that energy will profit them
now if this Deckter fellow won't follow Meron's ways. The
strange thing was that when they reached the area, the
wherries flitted away through the forest, and they found
only a queen's shell on the beach. They spent a good deal of
time going up and down that strand, but there wasn't any
trace of a full clutch."

"Piemur does have his friend after all," cried Menolly,
grabbing Sebell and dancing about with him in her relief.

"Piemur? That's your missing boy? Hey, stop that,
you'll set every fire lizard in the place a-wing."

ISO

Kimi and Diver swooped into the cavern at that point,
and with Beauty and Rocky bugling their delight, some of
the southern fire lizards were also reacting. Sebell and
Menolly called their four to order, and Toric sent his away.

"Yes, it's Piemur who's been missing, our apprentice,"
said Menolly, so jubilant that for a moment Sebell thought
she'd swing Toric into their joyful antics.

"He and I were at Meron's Gather," said Sebell. "Some-
how he got into the Hold itself and purloined the queen
fire lizard egg. Meron was livid. . . ."

"I can well imagine," said Toric with a snort.

"Only none of his men could find Piemur or the egg.
Kimi said she couldn't reach him," Sebell went on.

"That was when he'd hidden in the sack,'" Menolly said.
"Oh, that wretched, that clever rascal."

"More clever than he knew, or could guess," Sebell con-
tinued, for Toric's expression told him that he didn't think
so highly of Piemur's escapade. The harper explained to To-
ric all that had occurred after Piemur's daring theft: the
fear of the main contenders for the Holding that Benden
Weyr would discover Meron's dealings with the Southern
Oldtimers. The heirs apparent now wanted no part of the
succession, nor did they want the Hold in contention, so
they pressured Meron to name a successor, who would then
try to placate the Benden 'weyrleaders. But Meron had col-
lapsed, and both the Master Healer and the Masterharper
were summoned, for the Harper could act as mediator. He
convoked other Lord Holders and the High Reaches
Veyrleader to force Lord Meron to name his successor.
About the methods, Sebell remained discreet. Nor did To-
ric inquire, since Sebell's recitation was limited to facts
rather than story-telling embellishments.

"So we think," Sebell finished, "that since Kimi specifi-
cally said it was too dark, as in a sack, and she couldn't
'find' Piemur, or room enough to get to him, he did secrete
himself in a sack, which the Oldtimers collected that
night—I saw the dragons—and brought here. That would
also explain why none of our fire lizards could find a trace
of him anywhere in Nabol."

Toric had listened with keen attention to Sebell's sum-
mary, but now he cocked his head to one side and made a
rueful noise with his tongue against his teeth.

1S1




"It's true a boy could have fit in that sack, and it's true
that a queen fire lizard egg was found. But . . ." and he
held up his hand warningly, ". . . Thread fell that
day . . ."

"Piemur knew you could live holdless through Thread-
fall!" said Menolly with the firmness of one trying to con-
vince self.

"Wherries were circling that shell. They could have got
the little queen at hatching—"

"Not if Piemur was alive! And I know he was," said
Menolly more stoutly now and utterly convinced. "Is that
place far from here? Could your queen take our fire liz-
ards? If Piemur's anywhere about, they'll find him."

Toric was dubious, but he called up his queen. To the
surprise of both harpers, the queen didn't, as Kimi or
Beauty would have done, land on Tone's shoulder, but
hovered awaiting his pleasure. Toric issued the sort of or-
der one would give a stupid drudge. She chirped at Kimi
and Beauty, disdaining the two bronzes, and flitted out of
the cavern, the other four fire lizards right behind her.

"Lord Meron's death won't bother them," and Toric
jerked his head in the direction of the Southern Weyr, "for
a while. They just brought in all they'll need for some
time. I would prefer that we somehow keep them supplied.
I ..." and he jerked his thumb at his chest in emphasis,
". . . do not wish to jeopardize my arrangements with
Lessa and F'lar. They" and again he meant the Oldtimers,
"don't care how they get what they think they need.
Meron was just convenient." He took the harpers' solemn
assurance of assistance as his due, but then grinned, not
pleasantly. "Has any one of Meron's people figured out
just how many green fire lizard eggs got foisted off on
'em?" Toric plainly thought little of people who would be
taken in by such a deception.

"You forget that the small holders don't know much
about fire lizards," said Sebell. "In fact, the enormous fire
lizard population at Nabol is one of the reasons why Pie-
mur and I were there: to make certain Meron was the
source of so many green fire lizards."

Toric half-rose, his usually controlled expression showing
anger. "No one suspected me of cheating traders?"

"No," Sebell said, though that had been one of his prob-

182

lems. "Don't forget that I collected the clutches you've
sent north in barter, but it was necessary for the Harper to
find the real culprit. Green clutches could have been
brought in by sailors who have been so conveniently losing
themselves in southern waters."

"Oh, all right then." Toric subsided, his honor unchal-
lenged.

"The Oldtimers have not questioned those lost sailors?"

"No," said Toric, shrugging negligently. "So long as the
sails are red. They never have bothered to count the num-
ber of ships we really own."

Toric then noticed that they had drained their juices so
he replenished the cool drinks.

"Have you some ships out now?" asked Sebell, because
he had thought it odd to see so few at anchor when the sun
was high.

Toric smiled again, his good humor completely restored
by Sebell's observation. "You are well come. Harper, since
the ships have sailed on your account. Or, I should say,
'Master Oldive's. It's harvest time for the numbweed, and
for certain other herbs, grasses and such like that Sharra
says the good man requires. If you stay until they return,
then you can sail home full laden."                      /

"Good news, Toric, but we'd best sail home laden with
Piemur as well."

The southerner clicked his tongue pessimistically. "As I
said, there've been three, maybe four Threadfalls since that
queen egg shell was found."

"You don't know our Piemur," said Menolly, so insistent
that Toric raised his eyebrows in surprise at her fervor.

"Maybe, but I know how other Northerners act in
Threadfall!" Toric was plainly contemptuous.

"You're having trouble with their adaptation here?"
asked Sebell, worrying that the Harper's masterful solution
of sending holdless men south to Toric in unobtrusive
numbers was in jeopardy.

"No trouble," said Toric, dismissing that consideration
with a wave of his hand. "They learn to cope holdless, or
stay holdbound without the additional privileges of being
ranked as holders here. Some have adapted rather well," he
admitted grudgingly. Then he noticed Menolly's anxious
glances toward the entrance. "Oh, I told her to give the

183




forests a good raking, too. The fire lizards'll take a while if
my queen has followed her orders. Now that drink is not
enough to soothe a sea thirst; there's sure to be ripe fruit
cooling in the tanks." He rose and went to the kitchen area
of the cavern where he scooped a huge green-rinded fruit
from a tank set in the wall. "Generally we save heavier
eating for the evening, when the heat has eased." He sec-
tioned the fruit and carried a platter of the pink-fleshed
slices to the table, "Best fruit in the world for quenching
thirst. It's mainly water."

Sebell and Menolly were licking their fingers for the last
of the succulent juices when a twittering fair of fire liz-
ards swooped in. Beauty and Kimi made immediately for
their friends' shoulders. Rocky and Diver settled near
Menolly on the table, but Toric's queen hovered, chirping
out a message, her eyes whirling with the orange-red of
distress.

"I told you he might not survive," said Toric. "My
queen really looked for any trace of a human, too." •

Menolly hid her face on the pretext of reassuring her fire
lizards, who were imaging to her endless distances of forest
and deserted stretches of beach and sandy wastes.

"You sent them west," said Sebell, grasping at any
theory that would give them hope, "to the place where the
egg shells were discovered. If I know Piemur, he wouldn't
have stayed anywhere that he had left clues. Could he have
worked his way east? And be further down this side of the
Southern Weyr?"

Toric gave a snort of laughter. "He could be any bloody
•where in the whole great southlands, but I doubt it. You
Northerners don't like to be holdless in Threadfall."

"I managed quite well, thank you," said Menolly, her
face bleak despite the sharpness of her reminder.

"There are undeniably exceptions," said Toric smoothly,
Inclining his head to indicate he meant her no insult.

"Piemur avoided discovery by fire lizards at Nabol, he
told me, by thinking of between," said Sebell. "He could
have tried that trick again today. He'd have no way of
knowing they were our friends. But there's one call he
won't ignore or hide from."

"And what would that be?" asked the skeptical holder.

1S4

Sebell caught Menolly's suddenly hopeful expression.
"Drums! Piemur will answer a call on drums!"

"Drums?" Toric threw back his head in an honest guf-
faw of surprise.

"Yes, drums," said Sebell, beginning to find Toric's at-
titude offensive. "Where's your drumheights?"

""Why would we need drumheights in Southern?"

It took the astounded harpers a little while to under-
stand that drumheights, traditional in every hold in the
north, had never been installed in the Southern's single
hold. Granted, there were now small holdings established as
far to the east as the Island River, but messages came back
and forth either by fire lizard or by ship.

To Sebell's impatient query for any sort of drums in the
hold, Toric said that they had a few to aid rhythm in
dances. These were found in the quarters of Saneter, the
hold's harper, who roused from his midday rest to show
them to Sebell and Menolly. They were, as Sebell sadly
found, no better than dance drums, with no resonance to
speak of.

''Still and all, message drums would be handy to have
nowadays, Toric," Saneter said. "Easier than sailing down
the coast to discuss something. Just drum 'em up here.
Safer, too. Those Oldtimers never learned drum measures.
Come to think of it, I'm not sure how much I remember
myself." Saneter regarded the journeymen harpers with an
abashed surprise. "Haven't had to use drum talk since I
came here with F'nor."

"It wouldn't be hard to refresh your memory, Saneter,
but we must have proper drums. And that would take
time with all the Master Smith has on his plate right now,"
said Sebell, shaking his head with the disappointment he
felt. He'd been so sure. ...

"Must drums be made of metal?" asked Toric. "These
have wooden frames." He tapped the stretched hide across
the larger drum, and it rattled in response.

"The metal message drums are large, to resound—" Se-
bell began.

"But not necessarily metal; just something big enough,
hollow enough over which to stretch your hide, and reso-
nate?" asked Toric, ignoring the interruption. "What about
a tree trunk . . . say . . ." and he began to hold out his

185




arms, widening the circle while Sebell started in disbelief at
the area he encompassed. "... about this big? That ought
to make a bloody loud drum. Tree I'm thinking of came

down in the last big storm."

"I know things grow bigger here in the south, Toric,"
said Sebell, skeptical in his own'turn, "but a tree trunk as
big as you suggest? Well, now, they don't grow that big."

Toric threw back his head, laughing at Sebell's incredu-
lity. He clapped Saneter on the shoulder. "We'll show this
disbelieving northerner, won't we, Harper?"

Saneter grinned apologetically at his crafters, spreading
his hands out to. indicate that Toric was indeed telling the

truth.

"Further, it's not all that far from the hold. We could
make it there and back before dinner," said Toric, well
.pleased with himself, and strode out of the harper's quarters
ahead of the other three to rouse assistants.

While Sebell didn't doubt that the fallen tree was "not
far" from the Southern Hold, it was also not an easy trek
through steamy hot forests where the trail had to be
hacked out afresh. But, when they finally reached the tree,
it was every bit as large in girth as Toric had promised.
Sebell felt much like Menolly, awed, as they reached out to
caress the smooth wood of the fallen giant. The insects that
had burrowed out the monster's core had also made meals
of its bark until only a thin shell remained, the last skin of
the once-living tree. Even that shell had begun to rot away
in the steam and rain of its environment.

"Will this make you enough drums, harperman?" asked

Toric, delighted to confound them.

"Enough for every holding you've got, with more left
over," said Sebell, running his eyes down the fallen trunk.
Surely it must be several dragon lengths; queen dragons 1
It must be the biggest, oldest tree ever grown on Pern.
How many Threadfalls had it survived?

"Well, how many shall we cut you today?" asked Toric,
gesturing for the doubled-handed saw that had been car-
ried by his holders.

"I'll settle for one just now," said Sebell, "from here . . ."
and he marked the distance with an arm and his body,
pointing to the limit with his right forefinger by his ribs,

186

". . . to here. That would make a good, deep, long-
carrying sound when the hide is stretched."

Saneter, who had come with them, stooped to pick up a
thick, knobby-ended branch and pounded the tree trunk
experimentally. Everyone was surprised at the hollow boom
that resulted. The fire lizards, who'd been perched on the
surface, lifted with shrieks of protest.

Grinning, Sebell held out his hand to Saneter for the
stick. He beat out the phrase "apprentice, report!" He
grinned more broadly as the majestic tones echoed through
the forest and started a veritable shower of tree-dwelling
insects and snakes, shaken from their perches by the unex-
pected loud reverberations.

"Why move it?" asked Toric. "You could hear this at
the back of the mountains."

"Ah, but site this on that landing over your harbor, and
a message would carry to that Island River of yours," said
Sebell.

"Then we'll cut your drum. Harper," said Toric, gestur-
ing for another man to take the opposite handle of the big
saw. He held the blade for the initial cut. "Then we shall
. . . take the rest . . . out in sections ... as big as we
. . . can carry them," he said, thrusting mightily at his end
of the saw.

With a man of Toric's brawn and the willing help of the
other holders, the first drum section was quickly detached
from the trunk. A long pole was cut, vines quickly laced
to secure the section to the carrier, and the party was soon
making its way back to the Southern Hold.

By the time they had arrived, Sebell and Menolly were
dripping with sweat, tortured by scratches and insect bites,
which did not seem to bother the tougher, tanned hides of
the Southerners. Sebell wondered if he could find the en-
ergy to cover the drum that day. Toric had firmly assured
him that there were hides large enough—since herdbeasts
also grew larger here in the south—to fit this mammoth
drum. But the journeyman was determined to work as long
and hard as the Southern Holder if he had to. And he had
to, to find Piemur.

They had positioned the drum in front of the cavern
"for the sun to dry up the insects," so Toric announced,
when the big holder frowned at his guests.

1S7




"Man, you will die an early death if you work this hard
all the time." Toric waved toward the westering sun. "The
day is nearly over. This drummaking can wait till morn-
ing. Now we all need a wash," and his gesture went sea-
ward. "That is, if you harpers swim . . ."

Menolly gave a sigh, partly composed of relief that Se-
bell was not going to insist on finishing the drum tonight
and partly of disgust since Toric would never remember
that she had not only lived holdless but had been a sea-
holder's daughter and could outswim him. Sebell hesitated
briefly before he surrendered to Toric's suggestion.

The seawater, not as warm as Sebell had anticipated, was
indeed refreshing as well as relaxing. The four fire lizards
zipped in and out of the gentle evening waves, cluttering
with delight to frolic with their friends, though if Menolly
disappeared for long beneath the waves, her three fire liz-
ards dove after her, pulling her surfacewards by her hair.

Suddenly Tone's queen, who had held herself aloof from
the antics of the visitors, hovered above Toric's head, twit-
tering urgently. Toric glanced around. Following his gaze,
Menolly and Sebell saw three red-sailed sloops, their sides
lined with people, rounding the arm of land that protected
the southern harbor.

"The harvesters have returned," said Toric to the har-
pers. "I'll just see if all is well. Stay on and enjoy your-
selves."

With strong strokes of his powerful arms, he made a di-
agonal line to the shore that would intercept the landing of
the lead ship.

"Sometimes that man is too much," she said, shaking her
head at this latest exhibition of the southerner's strength.

"Which is as well for me," said Sebell, laughing, and
pulled her under just to let the fire lizards rescue her.

They played that game bit, reveling in the freedom of
the water and its coolness until Menolly suddenly won-
dered if she had enough energy left to swim back to shore.
But they got there safely, fire lizards escorting, and paused
to lean against the seawall to catch their breaths before
continuing back up to the hold.

Toric was now directing the unloading, his tall figure
moving here and there. Abruptly, they saw a tall, dark-

1S8

haired girl, only a head shorter than the big Holder, ap-
proach him and hold him in a long conversation.

"That must be Sharra," Menolly said, noticing several
fire lizards converge over the girl's head. One of them
landed on her shoulder, and Menolly gave a snort. "Toric
certainly has his queen well'-trained, hasn't he?"

Suddenly a sound paralyzed them: the sharp thudding
of a practiced hand against what could only be the newly
acquired drum round. A practiced hand that beat a mea-
sure, "Harper here, anyone else?" and the staccato that was
a question.

"It has to be Piemur!" Menolly's cry was half-gasp
half-scream, but the words weren't quite out of her mouth
before both harpers were on their feet and running toward
the ramp up from the harbor.

"What's the matter?" they heard Toric yelling after
them.

"That was Piemur!" Sebell managed to gasp out as he
charged a bare stride ahead of Menolly. But when they
skidded to a halt on the shell-strewn area before the cav-
ern, there was no one about.

Sebell cupped his hands about his mouth. "PIEMUR! RE-
PORT!"

"Beauty! Rocky! Where is he?" gasped Menolly, half-
angry with Piemur for that heart-stopping shock.

"SEBELL?"

The harper's name echoed and re-echoed coming from
the cavern. Sebell and Menolly were halfway there when a
tanned, bare-legged, shock-haired figure ran straight into
them.

Menolly, Sebell and Piemur were entangled in mutual
cries and thumpings of rediscovery when a tiny fire lizard
queen began attacking Sebell, and a small runner beast
tried to butt Menolly's knees from under her. Beauty,
Rocky and Diver immediately drove off the little queen,
but it wasn't until Piemur, dashing tears of relief and joy
from his eyes, called Farii to order and reassured Stupid,
that any sort of coherent conversation was possible. By that
time, Sharra, Toric, and half the Southern Hold were
aware that the lost had been found.

A celebration for the successful return of the harvesters
would have been held in any case, but the evening was

?8°




certainly crowned by Piemur's appearance, especially after
he was reassured that his absence would be forgiven by the
Masterharper in view of the extraordinary outcome of the
initial folly of stealing the queen egg from Meron's hearth.

Sebell and Menolly listened intently when Piemur ac-
counted for his continued absence once Farii had been Im-
pressed.

"He was wiser not to come back right then, anyhow,"
said Sharra before Toric could speak. "If you remember,
Mardra was in a taking over that unclosed sack and ready to
flay the hide off the back of the culprit. Though what she
wants with more to wear here, I don't know!"

"The wilderness has its own thrall," said Toric, eyeing
Piemur so closely that the boy wondered what he'd done
wrong now. "Tell me, young apprentice harper, how did
you survive Threadfall the day your queen hatched?"

"In the water, under a ledge in the lagoon," said Piemur
as if that ought to have been obvious. "Farii didn't hatch
until after Threadfall."

Toric nodded approval. "And the other Threadfalls?"

"Under water. Only by that time I'd sort of found a
camp by the river, above the numbweed meadows. . . ."
He glanced at Sharra, whose eyes twinkled at the truth he
now chose to speak, "where I found a submerged log to
hold onto and a long reed to breath through."

"Why didn't you come back after the second Pall?"

"I found Stupid, and I couldn't travel far or fast until
he was grown up."

Sharra bubbled with laughter then, for the ingenuous
expression of Piemur's face was just short of impudence.

"You were certainly making tracks eastward to the sea
when our paths crossed," she said.

"You expected me to stay anywhere near people making
numbweed?" asked Piemur with such disgust that everyone
laughed.

"I'll bet there were times in the marsh when you wished
you were back just harvesting numbweed," said Sharra,
grinning at Piemur, who rolled his eyes upward.

"You went alone to the marshes?" Toric was not pleased.

"I know the marshes, Toric," said Sharra firmly, as if
this were a continuation of previous arguments. "I had my
Ere lizards and, in fact, I had Piemur, Farii and little Stu-
pid. And I'll add one thing"—now she turned to the har-
pers—"your young friend is a born Southerner!"

"He's apprentice to Master Robinton," said Sebell, with
a. warning to Piemur that brought a sudden silence to the
-main table.

"He's wasted as just a harper," said Sharra after a mo-
ment. "Why, I—"

"And I'm not really a harper right now, either, am I,
Sebell?" asked Piemur, suddenly collecting his wits. "I was
only good as a singer, and I have no voice. Is there really a
place for me at the Harper Hall? I mean," and he rattled on,
his eyes going from Sebell to Menolly, "I know you and
Menolly thought you could get me to help you two, but a
fine help I turned out to be, getting sacked up and sent
south without even knowing it. It's not as if I was good at
anything except getting into trouble—"

"Useful trouble, as it turned out," said Sebell, "but I
just had an idea ... to keep you out of trouble for a
while." The journeyman turned to the Southerner. "You
.rather like the idea of message drums, Toric? And, Saneter,
you say you've forgotten most of the measures you learned.
Well now, Piemur hasn't."

'  "I could be drum messenger here?" Piemur was suddenly
Open-mouthed with shock.

Sebell held his hand up to get a word in, and the radi-
ance in Piemur's face faded. "I can't be certain until I've
asked Master Robinton, but frankly, Toric, I think Piemur
could serve his Hall very well right now as drum . . . no,
drum apprentice-master ... if Saneter wouldn't mind
being taught by one of lower rank." Sebell then turned to
the startled hold harper to explain. "Rokayas who is Master
Olodkey's senior journeyman said that Piemur was one of
the quickest, cleverest apprentices he's ever had to beat
measures into. If you wouldn't mind him refreshing your
memory. . . ."

Saneter laughed and beamed encouragingly at Piemur,
whose face once again shone. "If he can put up with a
fumble-fingered old harper . . ."

"Toric, as Southern Holder?" Sebell paused delicately,
for he had caught the narrowing of the big man's eyes and
wondered if he had presumed too much.

"Troublemaker in the Hall?" Toric frowned, giving




each one a long, expressionless look, pausing to stare hard at
Piemur. The boy held his breath so long his face began to
turn bright red under his tan.

"Actually, not a troublemaker, Toric," said Menolly.
"He just has a lot of energy."

"We could certainly use drums for messages to the
coastal holds," said Toric in a slow drawl, his face closed
on his thoughts. "Can Piemur make the drums?" he asked
Sebell.

"I'd prefer to stay and supervise," Sebell murmured.

""Well, in the ordinary way I wouldn't accept another
Northerner, but as Piemur has already proved he can sur-
vive on southern lands, I will make an exception in his
case."

At the shouts of joy, he .held up his hand once more,
commanding instant silence. "Contingent, of course, on the
approval of the Masterharper."

"He'll be so glad to hear that Piemur's alive arid well,"
cried Menolly, fumbling in her pouch for the message tube.

"Aw, Menolly, it's not as if I hadn't listened to every-
thing you told me about fire lizards and your life in the
Dragonstone cave and all—"

"You'll find this lad has ears in every pore of him," said
Sebell, giving Piemur's right one an affectionate twist.

"And tell Master Robinton I've got a queen and a tame
runner beast," Piemur told Menolly who was busily writ-
ing. "I wouldn't have to leave Stupid behind if I have to
go back to the Harper Hall, would I, Sebell?"

Sebell said something soothing and watched as Menolly
made the message tube fast to Beauty's leg, told her to go
back to Master Robinton and return as soon as possible.

"D'you think he'll let me stay?" Piemur asked Menolly
then, his eyes round with hope and anxiety.

"You did put your time in the drumheights to good ad-
vantage," Menolly said, hoping that this solution to the
problem of Piemur's immediate future did indeed meet
with Master Robinton's favor. The boy so clearly had
thrived in his few sevendays' here. She could swear he was
taller and had broadened through chest and neck. And
there was no question but what his unexpected trip to
Southern had altered him in many subtle ways. She caught
Sebell's glance and knew that he had observed those

changes, too. That the journeyman must see that this broad
and unexplored southern land could absorb the energies
and intelligence of their young friend far better than the
more traditional Harper Hall. "Bet you didn't think it
would result in an opportunity like this?"

Solemnly Piemur shook his head from side to side. Then
the laughter that always lurked in his eyes shown through.
"Bet you didn't, either."

Most of the Southerners then prevailed on the two visit-
ing harpers for the latest northern songs, always a happy
importation. So the time passed quickly for most while
Beauty delivered her message

The moment the little golden queen swooped into the
cavern, every sound died, for by now the prospect of Pie-
mur as drum messager had filtered to every Southerner
present and the suspense was universal.

But Beauty was so attuned to the message she carried
that her carolling answered Piemur's question before the
confirming words were read aloud
."Well done Piemur. Safely stay. Drum-journeyman!"

Congratulations were loud and cheerful, with Piemur's
back being thumped and hand shaken until he was nearly
d?zzy with such sudden acclaim after so much solitude.
"When Sebell saw him take an opportunity to leave the cav-
ern and the continuing festivity, he started to follow, but
Menolly shook her head, already halfway to the door.

So it was only Menolly who heard Piemur say to the
tired little golden queen that clung to his neck: "I wish I
had a drum big enough to tell the whole world how happy
I am!"