The Master Harper of Pern

"He's given hospitality to holdless fleeing from the High

Reaches."

"Oh?"

Robinton shifted uneasily, trying not to alarm u

Melongel nodded, confirming that opinion. "Hmm. I noticed."

"Well, it seems that Lord Faroguy may be dead and we simply haven't been told."

Melongel regarded him with shock. "How could that be?"

"I don't know, but Chochol thought it possible because he has sheltered several holdless folk – women and children mostly, returning to their relatives' holdings here in Tillek."

Melongel frowned. "I know of several holders who have asked for dispensation on their tithes because of increases in dependants." He shuffled through some hides. "I didn't know the women had been made homeless. Or that they'd come from High Reaches."

Robinton cleared his throat, coming to the most dubious part of what Chochol had told him. "The women said that they had been driven out of holds. Chochol said that some of the younger ones had been badly handled. That they thought Lord Faroguy must be dead for such things to happen."

Melongel scowled, fixing Robinton with a glance which many would have been unable to meet.

"You believe Chochol?"

"I do, because I know there is a very ambitious man in High Reaches who will try to claim succession for himself... when Lord Faroguy dies."

"Does this ambitious man have a name?"

Something in Melongel's eyes suggested to Robinton that the Lord Holder knew to whom he was referring.

"Fax."

"That nephew of Faroguy?" Melongel looked away from Robinton for a long moment. "I think I shall ask Faroguy to join us for the Gather. As you have served him, he might wish to come."

That suggestion was more than Robinton had hoped for. But Chochol's tale had revived suspicions he had once thought groundless.

"Ah, here," Melongel said, tweaking a hide from the pile and glancing down at the text. "I'll just see what I can find out. Two of these enlarged holders live near by." He folded his hands across his chest, looking down at a point on the floor. Then he looked up again, giving Robinton a little smile. "Good report, Robinton. Well done. I've met that nephew and, quite frankly, I tagged him as ambitious, too. Would you say that Farevene is able for him?"

Robinton cleared his throat, struggling with being honest without being derogatory. "Let me say that I wouldn't back Farevene in a wrestling match with Fax."

"Frankly, nor would I, but I know Farevene has been well trained to succeed his father, and I would certainly not confirm Fax in his place."

Robinton let out a relieved breath through his lips and said nothing more.

Melongel gri

Inwardly, Robinton groaned – once more the wall incident was raising its head, even if he was appreciative of the honour just accorded him. Mi

"I doubt it will be a long session, Rob, and certainly won't cut into your espousal in the afternoon."

With a clap on the shoulder, Melongel finally dismissed him.

"At the Gather Court? Oh, Rob, that is an honour," Kasia exclaimed when he told her, her eyes wide. Then she giggled. "Melongel really likes you."

"He's working my butt-end off," Robinton said in an unrepentant growl. "i'll be all morning listening to troublemakers' excuses and deciding fines for minor infractions."

"Keep you from being nervous about the afternoon," she said, teasingly.

"Ha! The morning'll make me worse. Having to sit through Court will give me indigestion, having to listen to all those half-truths and alibis ..." He pulled her into his arms, stroking her hair, which had a soothing effect on his disturbed digestion. Kissing her provoked other sensations, and once again he didn't get around to mentioning the Sonata to Sea-Green Eyes.

Of course, the longer he delayed, the harder it was going to be to work in a playing of it before the Gather. And suddenly he wasn't at all sure of its worth. It was definitely the most serious music he had ever written, and he was quite unsure of its merit. He could be fooling himself. It wasn't as if he could play for a critical listener, like Mi

Finally it was the day before the Gather and his mother arrived with Master Ge

"Tired of riding, yes," she said, her voice vigorous. "Your father has sent a short piece, which I'm to sing at your espousal."

"He did?" Robinton was flabbergasted as he took the score from his mother's hand.

"It's not in his usual style, either. I do believe your father is mellowing with age."

Robinton snorted but, as he sca

"Mi

"She's lovely, your Kasia, and she is besotted with you. You'll be happy, Robie. I know you'll be happy."

"I am already," he said with a silly grin on his face. "And Mother, I have some music I need you to look over."

"You do? Just like old times," she said, waiting as he rummaged in his drawers to find the sonata. "I'm almost jealous that others get to see your music now before I do."

"I always send--"

"I know you do, lovey, but it was such fun to be the first to---" She had unrolled the score and blinked at the first measures. She read on, and started to hum the opening melody. Cocking her head, she took to walking as she read, sometimes half-singing, sometimes nodding her head to the tempo, her eyes never leaving the page.

While his stomach churned and his heart seemed to be squeezed tight, he watched. Fortunately he had moved into their new quarters on the uppermost level of the Hold, well down the corridors from the rooms the old aunties and uncles occupied. There were two rooms with a small bathing facility in what Kasia called a walk-into closet. So there was space for Merelan to pace from the bedroom door across the wide living area.

Abruptly Merelan paused, gave him a bemused look, then sat herself down on the stool by his gitar stand and, propping up the music and picking up the gitar, she started to play it.

He had arranged it for first fiddle, or a gitar, harp and pipes, with the occasional emphasis of a flat drum. It wasn't that long a piece, for all its three movements. He had not added a fourth, as his father would have done, because he had said, musically, all that he needed to in the allegro, adagio and rondo. A scherzo would have fractured the mood.

When his mother played the final chords, her hands remained motionless on the strings for a long moment. Then she gave a fu