Dragonsinger

With that he left Menolly, but he whistled absently as he strode toward the now closed door of the main hall.

Sea songs inland and land songs on the seaside, thought Menolly as she climbed the steps to her room. She wondered just how Yanus, her father, would approve of land songs at Half-Circle Sea Hold. Well and good, and wouldn’t it be the best of all jokes if the land songs introduced at Half-Circle by Harper Elgion were ones she herself had written or copied out? Disgrace the Hold, indeed!

Now she wondered if she should write her mother, Mavi, or her sister, and just casually mention that she was apprentice to the Masterharper of Pern. That all her twiddles and tunings had considerably more merit than anyone at Half-Circle had the wit to appreciate. Except, of course, Harper Elgion. And Alemi, her brother.

No, she wouldn’t write her mother or her father, and certainly not her sister. But she might write Alemi. He’d been the only one who cared. And he’d keep the knowledge to himself.

But right now she had things to do. She organized her materials, her ink and tools, and carefully set about copying down the sea song. She worked quickly, though she had to sand out several small errors. Nevertheless, she had six fair copies by the time the di

Domick was in the hallway, in earnest conversation with Jerint who appeared a

“Six…” he leafed through her sheets, “and every one, a fair copy. My thanks, Menolly. Can you do… No, you must work with Shonagar this afternoon…”

“I’d need more paper, Master Domick, but I’ll have time to do two or three more copies before supper, if you need them…”

Domick glanced at the slowly filling dining room. He took her hand. “If you could squeeze in maybe three copies of your fire lizard song, I’d be in your debt. Come with me. Arnor should have retreated from his domain, and we can get as much paper as we want from Dermently. At least, today.” They were out the door with no more delay, heading toward the Archive room.

“I don’t mean to make a habit of this with you, Menolly, because it’s more important that you create than that you copy. Any apprentice can copy. But, with so many journeymen going off…. That’s why Jerint is looking peeved. And wait ’till Arnor hears…”

“Journeymen going off?”

“You didn’t think they stayed here forever and moldered…”

Actually Menolly had experienced a swift pang of regret because Talmor and Sebell were journeymen, and Sebell said he “journeyed.”

“Don’t worry about our quartet,” replied Domick with sudden perception. “It’s one thing to send away someone who’s really needed here and quite another for a master to refuse to let a qualified journeyman go out of the Hall because he’ll be put to the bother of training a new assistant. The whole point of the Harper Hall is to extend knowledge.” Domick’s arms swept wide to include all Pern. “Not to confine it,” and his right fist made a tight ball. “That’s what’s been wrong with Pern, why we haven’t really matured; everything’s been kept in shallow little minds that forget important things, that resist new knowledge, and experience…” He gri

“Would you ever leave the Hall?” asked Menolly, greatly daring. She was storing up his words to think about later.

“Me?” Domick was startled, and then frowned. “I might, but it would serve little purpose. Might be good for me, at that.” Then he shook his head again, rejecting the idea, “Perhaps, when there’s a big occasion at one of the larger Holds or another Craft Hall…Or a Hatching…But there really isn’t a Hold or Craft that needs a man of my abilities.” Domick spoke without conceit and also with modesty. It was a fact.

“Do masters always stay in the Hall?”

“Shells, no. There are any number assigned to the larger Holds and Crafthalls. You’ll see. Ah, Dermently, just a moment…” and Domick signaled the journeyman who was about to leave by another door at the far end of the Archive’s well-lit hall.

Menolly just had time to get to her room with an armload of supplies and off to the dining hall before everyone sat down. It was true that Master Jerint and Master Arnor wore expressions of sullen discontent. She wondered who was leaving. But she had no time to speculate. There was di

No sooner was she released by Master Shonagar than she returned to her copying, this time of “The Fire Lizard Song.” At first she felt awkward copying her own music, then she began to relish the notion. Her songs, going inland so that people would get some understanding of seaside creatures that had once been thought to be pure invention. That lovely old sea song, one she’d heard at Half-Circle since her first conscious appreciation of music, was a fine one to teach inland people how the seaman regards the broad ocean.

Domick’s attitude toward her music had been reassuring, too, It was a relief to her to know that there was no awkwardness between them. He thought her songs were serving a purpose, and that suited and pleased her.

It was, Menolly thought, one thing to work hard day in and day out to bring in food enough to feed oneself, one’s family and one’s Hold; it was quite another thing, and vastly more satisfying, to provide comfort for other lonely minds and tuneless hearts. Yes, Master Robinton and T’gellan had been right: she did belong in the Harper Hall.

Before she realized how time had flown, it was evening. She carefully put away her instruments, the ink and the unused sheets, delivered the music to Master Domick’s room, and went to the kitchen level to feed her friends.

Beauty and the bronzes were crowded round her when, though scarcely sated, they suddenly looked skyward. Beauty crooned softly in her throat. Rocky and Diver answered, as if agreeing with her, then all three again demanded food.

“What was all that about?” asked Piemur.

Menolly shrugged.

“Will you look at that?” Piemur cried, excitedly, pointing skyward as three, then four, dragons appeared in the sky, slowly circling down to the wide fields. “And your fire lizards knew! D’you realize that, Menolly? Your fire lizards knew there were dragons coming.”

“Why would dragons be coming?” Menolly asked, and that lump of fear grew a few sizes larger. “It isn’t time for Threadfall again, is it?” She doubted that Lord Sangel would send dragonriders to discipline a mere apprentice.

“I told you,” and Piemur sounded exasperated with her obtuseness. “The masters were closeted yesterday and today, reassigning journeymen. So,” and he shrugged as if that explained the presence of dragonriders, “the dragons transport them to the new holds. Two blues, a green, and…hey…a bronze!” He was impressed. “I wonder who rates the bronze!”

Now the Fort Hold watch dragon bugled a welcome and was answered by the circling beasts. Beauty and the other fire lizards added their trill of greeting.

“Oh, no,” Piemur groaned. “They’re landing in the field, and we just got it cleaned up!”

“Dragons are not ru

Piemur was not the only apprentice with sharp eyes. Soon the courtyard was spotted with groups of curious lads. The dragonriders strode out of the shadows of the arch, and Menolly distinguished the colors of Istan, Igen, Telgar and Benden Weyrs on the dragonriders' tunics. And none of them a watch-dragonrider wearing the colors of Boll. Then she recognized the Benden dragonrider as T'gellan.