Masterharper of Pern (43 page)

The journey was seven days of hard travel. If Robinton regretted the absence of dragon wings, he knew more now about this area than he previously had—information that might prove valuable. The way into Ruatha Hold was appallingly open. He would have to incite Lord Kale to post guards, raise beacons, and alert the outlying cots and holds, in case Fax had his eye on this prosperous Hold.

“Surely there must have been some good reason behind the captain’s attack on F’lon,” Lord Kale remarked to Robinton as he offered hospitality to the MasterHarper.

He was a tall, slender man with dark hair and gray eyes, but his manner was gentle and it was obvious from the affection in which his stewards held him that he was a good Holder, considerate of his people and painstaking in his dealings with them. That made for contented holders, but it was a frail weapon against a man of Fax’s proven character. Robinton was more fearful than ever.

“If you’d been there, Lord Holder,” said Macester, the leader of the escort, with an earnest scowl of anxiety, “you’d’ve known it was no accident, and we’re lucky the MasterHarper wasn’t killed, too. Gifflen was out to do as much damage as he could. And then try to snake his way out of banishment.”

“Heat of the moment.” Kale smiled patronizingly.

Just then a small girl, her wide gray eyes immediately establishing her as Kale’s daughter, toddled up to him, holding her arms out.

“Ah, Lessa, not now, pet.” But he picked her up and carried her to the door, where the attendant she had escaped appeared to take her away.

She kicked and screamed, straining backward so that Robinton saw the thin face and the immense eyes, framed by a tangle of dark curly hair.

“Spirited at just four Turns,” Kale said with an indulgent smile.

“Lord Kale, as MasterHarper of Pern I implore you to follow the examples of the other Lord Holders in the west, to train men to defend this Hold. To set up a border guard with beacons to alert—”

Kale held up his hand, smiling in condescension. “My people are very busy with ordinary tasks, Master Robinton. It is spring, you know, and we’ve herds to manage and young animals to train to saddle.”

“Did it never occur to you that your fine runnerbeast would be invaluable to Fax when he needs to cover the plains to Telgar?” Robinton said insistently.

“Oh, come now, Master Robinton, he
buys
our runnerbeasts, and that’s good for Ruatha,” Kale replied with a laugh. “More klah? Surely you have time to stay the night Ruatha Hold would be honored.”

Suddenly Robinton wanted to put distance between himself and this trusting fool. He got purposefully to his feet, about to refuse, when he saw the weary look on Macester’s face and the man’s obvious inclination to spend a night in the comfortable surroundings of one of the major Holds.

“And we are extremely grateful for the courtesy,” he said as graciously as he could.

The door to Kale’s private office was still open after his daughter’s entrance and the sounds of a struggle, man against a furious animal, could be heard.

“He’s at it again,” Macester said under his breath as both he and Robinton moved to the door. Kale, curious, followed them out to the broad outer court, where Big Black was attempting to take chunks out of the Ruathan who had hold of his reins. Robinton noted wryly that none of the escort had taken charge of the beast.

“That’s a splendid animal,” Kale said, pausing on the top step to take in the scene. “Circle him, Jez,” he called to the handler. “One of Tarathel’s mountain breeds, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Robinton agreed, dispassionately watching the beast’s antics. He felt for a sweetener lump in his pocket and, finding one, stepped forward, speaking in soothing tones and reaching for the reins as a very wary Jez circled.

“Easy now, there’s a fine lad.” His voice got through to Big Black and the animal extended his nose toward the MasterHarper, seeking the treat he expected.

“Quite a handful,” Kale remarked.

“Until you’re in the saddle,” Robinton said, rather pleased he could say that honestly in front of a noted rider like Lord Kale.

Kale chuckled. “Now, Macester, if you’ll have your men lead your mounts up to the beasthold”—he pointed up the lane to the left—“we’ll see to your comfort.”

“And if your healer would check Master Robinton’s arm,” Macester said, ignoring Robinton’s protest, “I would be easier.”

“Your arm?” Kale was all concern. “Surely it was only a glancing blow . . .”

“Which required seven stitches,” Macester said in a growl.

So Kale hurried the harper back into the Hold and shouted for the healer.

“I had so hoped to hear some new music this evening . . .” the Lord Holder began wistfully.

“Oh, you will, you will,” Robinton said, dismissing his injury. “You’ve Struan here—” He grinned at the prospect of seeing his old dorm mate, now a very competent journeyman. “And I understand Lady Adessa plays harp as well as any harper.”

“But your wound . . .”

“Didn’t touch my throat, Lord Kale.” And mentally Robinton reviewed the sort of songs that might alter Kale’s indolence. He could but try. In ordinary times—and these were definitely not—Kale would be the ideal Lord Holder, tolerant, easygoing, affable, immersed in his Hold’s business and sure of its continuing prosperity.

After Robinton’s wound was tended to, he climbed to the drum tower, greeted the young holder on duty there, and asked for and received permission to signal the Harper Hall of his imminent return.

The child, Lessa, appeared briefly at the beginning of the evening entertainment but fell asleep in her father’s lap: Robinton was amused, since he’d been singing a rousing song that had occasioned much stamping of heavy boots and rhythmic clapping. One of the nearby holders who had been invited to the evening meal was clever with spoons and joined the other players.

Ruatha’s main Hall, with its excellent acoustics, was marvelous to sing in, though Robinton rather thought the wall hangings helped. He sat opposite the largest one, a stunning spectacle of dragonriders hovering above what was obviously Ruatha Hold, though the design of the facade had been improved since the tapestry was hung. There were queens, too, their riders carrying long wands from which flame spewed, matching the ones used by the crews on the ground. He could even make out the Fort Weyr device on the ground crews’ shoulders, so detailed was the scene.

Lady Adessa had certainly taken Hold here. He recalled the Hall from a previous visit with Lord Ashmichel, and at that time the chamber had been dark and dingy, the hanging dulled by dust. What was the old saying about new spouses and brooms?

The next morning, after a good sleep in a wide and comfortable bed, Robinton felt well-rested for the remainder of his journey. He only wished, as Jez gave him an experienced leg up to Big Black’s back, that he had been able to get more cooperation from Lord Kale. At least the Holder had agreed to setting up border patrols along the Nabolese border and erecting fire beacons on the heights.

“I doubt they will ever be used,” Kale had said in parting, leaving Robinton sighing as he turned the black’s head south and east to the main ford of the Red River.

On the way back, spouses and brooms did a stately dance in the MasterHarper’s mind as he took the incident and tried to make it musical. Melodies seemed to plague him at the most inauspicious moments, but he was grateful for the return of such spontaneity. He used it as a gauge to check his grasp on the essence of his responsibilities.

Nip returned to the Hall several weeks later, looking gaunt and weary.

“You’re staying until Master Oldive says you’re fit for it,” Robinton said, escorting Nip to the healer premises beyond the Harper Hall.

“It?” Nip said, grinning up at his MasterHarper with mischief as he tried to keep up with Robinton’s long stride.

“Whatever it is you’ll be up to next.” Robinton shortened his steps in deference to Nip’s condition.

“Let me report first, Rob,” Nip said.

“I won’t listen to a word until you are gone over, washed, and fed,” Robinton said firmly.

Nip knew when to give in to a superior.

Master Oldive commented on the number of bruises and scrapes, and the two swollen and enpurpled toes on one foot.

“He must bounce,” the Master said with a sly grin after he had completed his examination. The spinal deformation that marred the healer’s back and brought him to the Hall in the first place seemed to fascinate Nip, who kept trying not to look at it. Long since, Oldive had become impervious to such scrutiny. “Sound, if contused, but no lasting harm that a good hot bath, a double portion of whatever Silvina has in the hearth pot, and several days in bed will not cure.”

“Several days?” Nip would have jumped from the examining table but for the restraining hands of both healer and harper. “I wouldn’t mind a bath, I can tell you,” he said more meekly, rubbing dirt-encrusted fingers together. “And some decent food.”

So he was given both, and he probably did not notice that Oldive, who joined him and Robinton in Silvina’s little office, slipped something in his klah. He had finished his meal before the drug took effect: he was just pushing back the final dish of sweet pudding when he abruptly sagged down to the tabletop, his face just missing a splash of the pudding sauce that had spilled there.

“Good timing, there, Oldive,” Robinton commented.

“Yes, rather good, if I say so myself.”

Silvina gave them each a jaundiced glance. “The pair of you! You’re wretches, dyed-in-the-bone wretches.”

“Ever at your service, my pet,” Robinton said, giving her a flourish that ended as he took one side of the unconscious Nip while Oldive took the other, lifting the limp form off his bench. With Silvina opening doors ahead of them, they carried the runner up to the harper’s quarters where he was carefully laid down on the bed in the spare room and covered to sleep himself out.

“That was a rotten trick, Robinton,” Nip complained when he woke a day and a half later. Then his face dissolved into a grin that was singular enough to give him a totally different appearance. “I needed that.” He stretched and took the cup of klah that the harper had readied as soon as he heard noises from that room.

Robinton was privately glad that Nip’s timing was good. He had begun to worry about the man’s whereabouts.

“So I’m ready to listen,” Robinton said, as he started to pull the chair forward, “unless you wish to eat first.”

“No, I’d rather not turn my stomach
while
I’m eating.” And with that dour statement, Nip warned Robinton that his report was bad.

“It’s as well Tarathel sent so many. Vendross, who captained them, is a good man and a canny leader. He took no chances. There were more of Fax’s louts camped at the Crom border. Vendross spread his men out across the border and turned back those that tried to sneak into Telgar lands. There were a good number of Tarathel’s regular guards, and those Vendross set to watch at the river holds and report any sightings. The others he sent back home.”

Robinton nodded. At least Tarathel would take no chances that Fax might be coveting the broad Telgar valley, not to mention the Smithcrafthall at the junction of the Great Dunto River.

“I sort of went forward three steps and back a few, trying to keep track of how many were splitting off. But the main group of fourteen continued on back to Crom. When I was sure that Vendross . . .”

“Does he know you?”

Nip made a face, tilted one hand back and forth, and then grinned again. “Sort of. He never asks. I never tell. But he trusts my reports.”

“As well he should.”

“Thank ’ee kindly, MasterHarper sor,” Nip retorted cheekily. “So I kept on, ahead a bit, to see which way they might go.” He shook his head, his expression sad. “I wouldn’t want to be under that man’s Hold for any reason. What he does to those unfortunates there . . .” He shook his head, sighed, and then seemed to shake himself out of such reflections. “I’ll tell you this, now, Harper, in case you ever need to know.” The tone made Robinton regard Nip fearfully. “Oh, I’m not saying you ever do need to know, but times being as they are, a little precaution is not untoward. Lytol who was L’tol”—and Robinton nodded to show that he knew who was meant—“is trying to keep his family’s Crafthall going. Managing in spite of Fax, and I have a safe haven in the storage loft. It could well be that a dragonrider and a harper will bring that man down when the time’s ripe.

“On the good side, I’ve found Bargen!”

“Have you now?” Robinton sat up straight with real pleasure at such tidings. “Where?”

Nip gave one of his little chuckles. “Not dumb, our young Lord Holder. He’s up at High Reaches Weyr, with one or two others that made it safely out of Fax’s clutches. Last place that one’d go.”

“What’s Bargen doing? Is he well?”

“Well, and doing a few exercises that may annoy Fax.”

“Nothing that would endanger any of the innocent . . .” Robinton raised an anxious hand.

Nip cocked his head, grinning. “Little that can be traced back to anyone in particular. I think Bargen’s grown up—a bit roughly, but it’ll work to his advantage.”

“Do remind him that the Harper Hall will assist him any way it can.”

Nip smiled ruefully. “When and if the Harper Hall is able, my friend, considering harpers are in nearly as bad odor as dragonriders these days. At that, he could do little with the few men he has except wait.” And that ruined Robinton’s fleeting dream of seeing Bargen Holding High Reaches in the near future. “Any luck with Lord Kale?”

Robinton shook his head. “The man’s too good, too trusting. He’s already had Fax as a guest, selling him runnerbeasts, so why would I suggest that Lord unconfirmed Holder Fax would not continue such blameless behavior?”

“Spare us!” Nip waved a hand over his head in despair at such innocence.

“He has agreed to mount a border patrol and build beacons.”

“That’s quite a concession,” Nip said with a degree of sarcasm and a grim smile. Then he rolled his eyes thoughtfully. “You know, as a proper harper, I could drop a word in his ear now and then, keep him on his toes?”