Masterharper of Pern Read Online Free Page B

it?” Petiron asked Merelan. Dragons were never toys; it would have been blasphemy to play with one.
    “No, silly. It’s supposed”—Merelan grinned reassuringly up at her astonished spouse—“to be a fire-lizard.”
    “A fire-lizard? But they died out centuries ago.”
    “No, not entirely. My father saw one, and Uncle Patry said he’d seen one this past year.”
    “He’s sure?” Petiron had a pragmatic streak that required proof.
    “Indeed he is. And we’ve empty shells gathered from flotsam to prove that they exist, even if they aren’t much in evidence.”
    “Well, if they’ve shells . . .” And Petiron was mollified. Merelan turned her head away so that he wouldn’t see her smile.
    She was quite aware of Petiron’s opinions about everything here in Pierie Hold, but there was no sense in arguing with him about his misconceptions. In general he was a fair man, and she was sure he’d come round. He might even get to like living here, away from all the bustle and overstimulation of the Harper Hall. She had been so pleased with his thanks to Sev, Dalma, and the other traders. He’d meant every word he’d said to them, about learning so much on the route and that he had enjoyed the evenings, and the teaching. He’d learned to feel comfortable on a runnerbeast, so she knew she could talk him into taking trips to the other nearby holds where her brothers and sisters lived. Especially as she would have to leave Robinton behind so as not to irritate Petiron by his son’s constant presence. Not only was he weaned now, but Segoina was almost panting to have a chance to tend him. If only Petiron could learn to like his son a little for his own sake, and Robinton’s, rather than see him as a rival for her attention.
     
    Teaching came first, and Petiron divided up the forty-two prospective students into five groups. The beginners, novices, middle, and advanced were of mixed ages, since some had had a little more training from a parent than others; the final group was made up of the five who were much too old to be included in the regular classes. Those he’d teach in the evenings by themselves—not that anyone was embarrassed.
    “Living up in the mountings, never had the chance to learn nothing,” Rantou said, unabashed. The stocky timberman had glanced over at his young spouse who was visibly pregnant. “That is, until I met Carral, here.” Then he blushed. “Really like music, even if I doan know much. But I gotta learn so the baby won’t have no stupid for a father.”
     
    Despite having had no formal training at all, Rantou could produce the most amazing sounds out of a multiple reed-pipe, although he waved aside Petiron’s earnest desire to teach him to read music.
    “You just play it all out for me once, and that’ll do me.”
    When Petiron paced about that evening in the privacy of their little home, terribly upset that an innate musician of considerable talent was risking talented fingers with saw, ax, and adze on a daily basis, Merelan had to calm him.
    “Not everyone sees the Harper Hall as the most preferential occupation, love.”
    “But he’s—”
    “He’s doing very well for a young man with a family on the way,” she said, “and he’ll always
love
music, even if it is not his life the way it has always been yours.”
    “But he’s a natural. You know how hard I had to work at theory and composition, to get complicated tempi—and he manages cadenzas after one hearing that it would take you, good as you are, days to command. And Segoina told me he makes . . .
makes
the gitars, the flutes, the drums, all the instruments in use here . . .” He raised both hands high in exasperation and frustration. “When I think how hard I had to work to walk the tables for journeyman for what he just picked up listening to me, I—I’m speechless.”
    “Rantou doesn’t
want
to be a musician, love. He wants to do what he does do, manage forestry. Even the instruments he makes