Sorry I can't use the paragraph breaks I did have, they don't translate, try to imagine rows of either scrolls of music or lap harps which would be at about 40-point size. This isn't hugely long after Dragondrums in canon and runs from 5-22-2519 to 9-01-2521

I do not own Pern, or any of Anne McCafferey's characters, I'm only playing with them.

Chapter 1 A New Harper Apprentice

It was all rather overwhelming. Tyrin knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life; but right now he was not too sure that life knew what it was doing with him!

hHhHh

Tyrin reflected on the events of the past few days. First had been the fearful news of T'lan, dear as a sister to him, badly hurt and taken to the Healer Hall where she had birthed twins prematurely; and R'gar, his foster father had taken him to see her there. Not allowed in by the fussy Faylina, he had wandered disconsolately about outside until he had conceived the happy notion of how to show T'lan how pleased he was for her about the babies. Besides it would amuse Sagarra, who WOULD tag along if he wrote a lullaby for them. So, he had cut reeds from the river to make some pipes and played the tune that was bursting out of his head. Sagarra had been delighted; but the stocky man who came up with a face like thunder evidently did not agree.

"What are you doing out of class, boy?" He had asked coldly. Tyrin had only been able to stare at him, managing a stuttered,

"S-sir?"

"Whose class are you supposed to be in? And who is that child?"

"I'll not have you frighten my sister!" blurted Tyrin. "And I'm not supposed to be anywhere sir. I thought we were far enough away for my fiddling to disturb anyone. I'm sorry if it did."

The man's face had lost some of its ire.

"You have time off for a family visit? Why did you not say so lad? Whose apprentice are you – surely I've not seen you before. And what tune was that?"

Tyrin put his chin up.

"Sir, I'm no-one's apprentice. I'm visiting while my foster mother is ill. And I wrote the tune for her and the babies. It's not a stolen one!"

"You wrote it?" the stocky man seemed suddenly intent. "Show me your pipes." He held out an imperious hand and Tyrin found himself giving him the pipes. They were minutely examined. The man asked, "When did you make these?"

"Just now, sir. From river reeds, just to try the tune out."

"How did you pitch them?"

Tyrin looked surprised.

"Just by ear, sir. How else can you?"

"Just by ear, the boy says. And he's nobody's apprentice. Boy, WHY are you nobody's apprentice?"

Tyrin looked down his nose.

"I never had the opportunity to. And my name is Tyrin, sir, not Boy."

The man roared with laughter.

"And my name, Tyrin, is Master Domick. And I think you should stop being nobody's apprentice and show these pipes to Master Jerint. Have you had any training in musical theory or tuition in anything but pipes?"

Tyrin burned.

"Master Domick, I have had no tuition in anything, theory or otherwise. I just taught myself to play the pipes because I had to have music."

Domick looked angry again.

"Whatever were your parents thinking of?"

"Feeding us while they died, sir." Said Tyrin quietly. "Now I have foster parents and they're good ones. They don't stop me playing like some folks as took us in used to. But why should it occur to them to apprentice me? I'm a weyrling now, and a candidate. I don't want to let them down."

Domick pointed dramatically at the boy.

"Boy – Tyrin – it would be a crime if you wasted perfect pitch on dragons. I suppose you're with that little Weyrwoman Faylina was so sure would die. Faugh, as if dragonfolk aren't too stubborn for that. But I tell you, they MUST be persuaded to let you be apprenticed. Although" he glared at Tyrin "It will be hard work. Harder for you than those who have been prepared for an apprenticeship. But your talents for pretty tunes needs to be encouraged – if that wasn't a one off."

Tyrin flushed again.

"No, master, I have others."

"Play them."

"Now, sir?"

"Of COURSE now!"

Nervously Tyrin licked his lips and launched into a jaunty tune he had written to celebrate his sister Sh'rilla's Impression, letting the pipes cry as the emotion of the pure joy of the moment was expressed in his tune. Domick listened and blinked.

"More." He said. Tyrin worked through every tune he had ever written; his lips were sore by the end. Finally Domick said,

"One day I will teach you to harmonise those as they could deserve. You do not know how to write them down?"

Tyrin shook his head, and the master frowned.

"With your permission I will transcribe them, in case anything happens to prevent you from doing so when you have learned how from Master Morshall."

Tyrin gulped and nodded. This was an honour indeed! The master added,

"They are rough, lad – very rough, as is hardly surprising if you've no training. In a few months when you can read them back, you will be embarrassed. Therefore, at that time, you will improve upon them. You are good raw material"

"Yes, sir, if you say so." Tyrin was exhausted by his ordeal and could do little but be carried along by Master Domick's ebullient personality.

Sagarra provided an interruption, making Tyrin jump; he had forgotten that she was there.

"Master Domick, you might be very important, but I'll not let you bully Tyrin if he doesn't want to be apprenticed, and my father won't let you upset him either. We LOVE Tyrin and we'll do anything for him!" she stamped her little foot firmly.

"I see you have a most fierce partisan." Domick remarked dryly to Tyrin.

"My family is very close, sir." Tyrin was not going to apologise. The little girl had guts, and she really did love him! He was close to tears of emotion. "But I would like to be an apprentice at the Harper Hall, even though I know I will have to work harder than the others to catch up."

Domick grunted something that sounded like 'in some things anyway' and had hustled the boy off to meet master Jerint, dismissing Sagarra adroitly enough to earn grudging admiration from Tyrin!

hHhHh

Jerint, the Master Instrument Crafter, had been contemptuous at first of the pipes.

"These are not even cured!" he sniffed.

"Ah, but Jerint, the lad only made these to try a tune out. I don't know if he always 'just makes' his pipes – but he's had not training at all. I thought you could do something with him. He tunes by ear." He added blandly.

Jerint had tried the pipes himself.

"Well, boy, do you know how to season them?"

"No, sir. There are always plenty of reeds, and enough choice to get a choice of tone."

Jerint threw up his hands.

"I shall teach you." He said. "Now, can you assemble a drum?"

Tyrin hung his head.

"Not properly." He whispered. "I've made drums – but I had to figure out how to stretch the skins I could get. And I didn't dare stretch them too much because only damaged ones were available. But I have had quite good results with cloth soaked in glue instead of skins."

Master Jerint looked intent.

"How do you stretch them?"

"Wet if skins so they shrink on – and I use wet thong to bind them on."

Jerint shuddered.

"You will have proper materials here – even if not of the best quality for apprentices. Though I should like to do some experiments with your surrogate hide when applied with proper oiled cord and metal clips."

After adroit questioning, Tyrin found himself telling the Master about his makeshift instruments, which elicited a grunt and a shudder but a request to demonstrate. Tyrin did so, nervous of showing his rude music to such an illustrious man, but he was not chided. In fact Jerint said,

"Although you will never make such things again, you will apply the same industry and ear to making proper instruments. You might then aspire to work at being an instrument crafter."

hHhHh

So now Tyrin was an apprentice. He had discussed it with R'gar and T'lan, afraid that they would be disappointed in him as they had taken him first to the Weyr as a candidate. He had not needed to worry; they were such GOOD people to him! Tyrin intended to work as hard as he could to make his new family proud of him in his chosen field. He was to be a general apprentice for the time being, but he was hoping that his tunes would, if he worked on them, impress Master Domick enough to take him as a personal apprentice. Of course it would be an honour if he pleased Master Jerint enough by learning the proper means of construction of instruments to be an apprentice of his; and he liked the Master well enough. However, Tyrin knew that what he wanted to do was write music – and nobody could teach him more than Master Domick about that, or so he had heard.

hHhHh

Meantime, Tyrin had to move in with the other apprentices. There was a dormitory with free spaces, mostly occupied by boys a year or two younger than him. Tyrin realised they were probably way more knowledgeable than he, and resolved to keep himself to himself until he had caught up. However, the lads were all getting ready for bed when he was shown in to the room; and seven pairs of eyes promised a barrage of questions as soon as the kindly brusque Silvina had withdrawn.

The barrage was duly forthcoming. One of the lads, a brown haired, brown tanned boy who seemed to be something of a leader, declared,

"Well! We never expected that bed would be filled! Hey, fellows, you'd better find room for your stuff in your own presses so our newcomer has room for his duds!" he grinned engagingly at Tyrin. "So, tell us about yourself! You're no taller than me, so I guess you're about eleven or twelve turns?"

Tyrin swallowed. He was at least used to weyrlings now, so groups of youngsters did not bother him as such; but his late entrance embarrassed him.

"I'm a bit older than usual." He tried to sound nonchalant about it in case there were any here who would make a big thing of it. "There were reasons I did not enter a craft at the proper age. I'm actually going on thirteen."

He sensed a certain amount of wariness from the boys, and one in particular wore an expression of dismay mixed with fear. The brown lad said cheerfully,

"I guess you're worried the others your own age'll get at you – but don't worry! There's safety in numbers. And we won't tell."

Tyrin grinned thanks.

"I'm Tyrin." He told them.

"Ferry." Responded the lad. "These lot are Anslas, Shoris, Stev – he's our resident genius, even Master Morshall doesn't shout much at him – Kerill, Duthi and Lisend. Say, Duthi, whaddya looking so glum about?"

The stocky boy he addressed was the one Tyrin had noted looking scared. He spoke up.

"HE don't need reassuring, Ferry. More'n likely he'll try an' throw his weight around an' get the big boys to help him."

Ferry snorted and Tyrin scowled.

"I've had enough trouble of my own earlier in my life to want to be handing it out." He sad quietly. "All I want is to be a Harper. And if you fellows hang together against bullies, I'd be glad to be a part of the team – I may not be big, but I'm handy in a scrap."

Ferry slapped him on the back.

"Are my instincts ever wrong? I mean, are they?" He asked challengingly.

"I'd be grateful" Tyrin said carefully "If you'd help me catch up over the next sevenday or two. I'm woefully behind in theory particularly."

There were good natured shouts of agreement; and Tyrin thanked fortune that he had landed in what seemed to be a friendly dormitory. It could so easily happened that he had been put with boys who chose to make his life a misery just because he was different. They even helped him pack away his clothes, exclaiming enviously over his wherhide jacket. Without thinking, Tyrin said,

"Well, it's the only practical thing to wear dragonback."

They all stared at him and he flushed.

"You've flown dragonback?" Red haired Kerill asked, awed.

"Well… yes…" Tyrin managed.

"Don't leave it like that! When? What was it like? How come? Tell us!" demanded Ferry.

"I don't want you to think I'm sounding off." Muttered Tyrin. He knew well enough that envy could make people hate you; he'd envied himself before R'gar and T'lana had swept up his sister and him, and he had since had to put up with some pointed comments about being the privileged son of the Weyrlingmaster Bronze rider. Even though R'gar DID work him twice as hard as anyone else.

Kerill grinned.

"Sounding off? Anything but, if we have to prise information out of you with a crowbar! Now, spill it all – we're agog!"

Tyrin couldn't help grinning at the comical face the boy was pulling.

"I'm sort of weyrbred." He said.

"Sort of? And why are you here when you could be a candidate? Kerill said spill it all, not half-measure!" Ferry shook a teasing fist, and Tyrin smiled ruefully.

"My sister and I were orphans. We were taken on search, and fostered in the Weyr – High Reaches Weyr – about half a turn ago. She Impressed Daenilth and I didn't Impress, and when my foster mother was landed in here by – by having an accident" – T'lan had forbidden him to call Lirilly down despite the other girl having flamed T'lan, so as not to give the impression that Queenriders fought – "I came with my foster sister to visit. I've always wanted to make music, and when I was offered the chance of an apprenticeship, and my parents didn't mind, I jumped at it."

The small, blonde boy introduced as the resident genius nodded.

"If it's in your bones you have to do it." He said softly, and Tyrin threw him a grateful glance. Ferry said,

"So you get to flit around all over the place dragonback?" his tone was frankly envious.

"Not exactly – and the novelty has never worn off – but I do go on dragons quite a lot. Did, rather."

"So your foster mother is that little bit thing Queenrider that everyone says is too young to have babies that the other Queenrider flamed?" asked Kerill all in one breath. Tyrin laughed.

"She's very tiny – and she's not very old, but she's old enough. Why she's been fostering Sagarra any time these past two turns! And you mustn't say that Lirilly flamed her, you know – accidents do happen. My foster father was accidentally flamed by his friend's dragon. Patchy Thread can play havoc with formations!"

"Sorry!" apologised Kerill. "It's only what I heard – some people are saying it was done on purpose."

"Does it seem likely?" Tyrin tried to sound scornful, mindful of the need to preserve the reputation of the Weyrs.

"I guess not." Kerill shrugged. "I'd not really thought about it. So your foster father is a Bronze rider?"

"He doesn't often fly Thread now – because of having a blind side. He's the weyrlingmaster." Tyrin felt a need to downplay the immense pride he had in his foster father, but could not conceal it from his face. Ferry thumped his arm lightly.

"You're a lucky one." He said. "And not just because your father's a dragonman. There's some around who'd give anything to feel about their old man you do." He glanced across at the neat figure of the boy Shoris, about the same height as Stev and even blonder; but where Stev's hair stood cheerfully on end, Shoris's was still as slick as if he had just combed it. Shoris shrugged.

"Leave my father out of it Ferry." His voice was sudden liquid gold, and Tyrin gasped. Ferry said,

"Yes, you'd not think he was Seahold bred would you? Journeyman Menolly found him before he'd ruined his voice shouting against gales and brought him here without a blessing from his kin."

Shoris shrugged again.

"I'm where I want to be." He said quietly. "And if my brothers and parents don't understand why, that's their problem. So if people from the Weyr don't understand why you're here Tyrin, just tell them where to stick it!"

The Seahold coarseness of his final remark in that golden voice brought a bubble of mirth bursting from Tyrin's lips as he tapped Shoris on the arm to show he meant no offence. Shoris grinned; and Tyrin knew that this was a trick he played on purpose! Shells, he was going to be happy here!

hHhHh

Next day, Tyrin thought he could change his mind about being happy. Master Morshall's class was the most embarrassing experience he had ever had – but he was not the only boy that the sallow, ill tempered Master humiliated. Some of the other lads seemed close to tears, and Tyrin swore a silent oath to learn so fast that he would show this supercilious man. He blessed his near perfect memory, for it would soon enable him to catch up. In fact the lessons they were learning, whilst difficult at first seemed quite logical. Rather like the drum messages. T'lan had already evinced the opinion that there was a logic to drum messages and wondered whether she could work it out; and Tyrin was playing a private game with himself to try to work them out as quickly as she! Certainly it would be helped by the theory of how to write drum measures – he could keep a note of the beats and see what happened as a response. Of course when he had learned a few drum measures as well, as part of his education as an apprentice, it would give him an advantage. Which he confessed to himself he needed, since his grasp of Boolean charts was definitely imperfect! He had studied some mathematics with T'lan's encouragement, using the book she had found deep in Nabol Hold, and had enjoyed it. There was a certain rhythm to the behaviour of numbers that was almost musical in its construction.

hHhHh

Tyrin was disappointed to find that he would not have any lessons yet with Master Domick; of course he would have to learn a lot more theory before it was worth studying composition with him, but Tyrin had taken a liking to the rather mercurially tempered Master. The man had no airs, and told you things straight – and Tyrin liked that. It was what he did not like about Master Morshall – that he never praised, even obliquely no matter how well a lesson was recited. Master Jerint was another master who met with the lad's approval, though he was a stern task master. Tyrin wanted to learn; and was prepared to work for what he wanted. It did not earn him popularity from some of the apprentices, but he and his dormitory mates stuck together. Tyrin found it difficult to understand that there were those here who did not want to learn as much as possible, and felt a need to lark about in class. Did they not want to be Harpers? He asked Ferry. Ferry laughed.

"Them? They see Harping as a soft option over working the fields or fishing or whatever. They never realised you put just as much in only in different ways. Besides, if you're in a class you're no good at I guess you get bored and want to create a diversion. I feel like that in singing – it just HURTS so having to breathe right. But Shoris enjoys that – so I'd be rude to lark. 'Course, we all play up Bruddie at times – Journeyman Brudegan, that is, because he takes himself so serious."

Tyrin nodded. He could see that Harping might be perceived to be easy by Holderfolk; and he also took Ferry's point about boredom. He found everything so new and exciting himself he had never stopped to consider that it could become routine.

hHhHh

It scarcely seemed as though Tyrin had only been an apprentice for two days when Thread fell. Some of the boys reacted very nervously, and Tyrin was amazed. After all they were inside – in Master Jerint's workshop – and in no danger. He allowed himself a wry grin at the thought of T'lan's reactions. The little Weyrwoman hated being confined and would be fretting to be out fighting Thread. Tyrin understood; having lived Holdless with Sh'rilla the shutters irritated him somewhat.

It was halfway through the class that a little green firelizard suddenly appeared in the workshop, trilling agitatedly to Master Jerint and broadcasting pictures of two girls out in fall, hurt, in the Arch. One of them had flaming red hair.

"T'LAN!" cried Tyrin, and bolted to the door, unbarring it and lugging it open. With a startled exclamation, Ferry joined him to help, heedless of Master Jerint's protest.

Leaning against the door were T'lan and Lirilly, T'lan's arm stinking of fresh burn.

"Talana! T'lan!" Tyrin cried frantically.

"Shut that fardling door!" her voice was weak.

"When you're inside!" he gingerly slipped an arm under hers, wondering what Lirilly had done now, glowering at the girl as she took the other side. Talana said,

"I can manage!" as they helped her to her feet; then she went limp and subsided onto the ground at Tyrin's feet.

"Help me someone!" he called: and willing hands helped him to get the light weight of Talana inside and close the door.

"Well, well, our little Queenrider – what has happened her?" Jerint was concerned.

"I don't know Master – but it looks serious." Tyrin said, casting a fulminating glance at Lirilly. The girl cringed.

"I forgot it was Fall. There – there was a Thread in her arm. She had a brand – I had to b-burn it…." She retched, a dry, empty sound. "She will be all right, won't she?"

Tyrin bit back a sharp retort. T'lan had made him promise. There MUST not be rumour of Queenriders fighting.

"Why don't you run for Master Oldive, Lirilly?" he suggested. "The rest of us can rig a stretcher and carry her through the workshop and the apprentice dormitories and back to the infirmary that way."

Lirilly nodded and ran off. Ferry looked at Tyrin with awe.

"You order Queenriders around?" he murmured. Tyrin flushed uncomfortably.

"Didn't matter who she was. She was upset – needed a job. Got her out of the way. Females I'm not related to make me uncomfortable."

Ferry nodded.

"Just hope everyone forgets it – or don't realise who she is. Me, I know because I've run a message to the Queenswing once when they stopped off here to check something out. Don't she look dreadful?"

Tyrin nodded in agreement as well as acknowledgement. Lirilly's appearance had shocked him – the normally immaculate hair was matted and wild, and her cheeks were sunken and pallid. Maybe she was suffering remorse for what she had done. She certainly deserved to! And now this – foolish woman! He schooled his face so as not to show his feelings, and firmly escorted his foster mother through to the infirmary.

hHhHh

Tyrin haunted the infirmary, walking up and down the corridor outside her room. He neither knew, nor cared, if he had been excused class for family illness, though he had written a note requesting permission for absence. When Lirilly took to hanging around too, he said rudely,

"That's twice you've almost killed T'lan – you looking for a third way?"

The girl flushed and bit her lip. Just then R'gar came out, and she grabbed his arm. Tyrin walked away, unable to trust himself. He waited for R'gar and threw himself on his foster father as though he were just a child.

"Whoa, son, don't knock me down." R'gar held him by the shoulders; it was vaguely comforting.

"That BITCH!" said Tyrin bitterly. R'gar nodded.

"But it might just make her grow up, you know." He said quietly. "I was talking to T'lan before this incident happened – and she said that she thought Lirilly behaved like she does because she feels somehow inadequate. You know, Tyrin, I back our T'lan to find out what's addling her yolk and put it right. And you'll have to smile and live with it – and learn to forgive. Yes, I know it will be hard" as Tyrin pulled a face "But better to grin and bear it and have two live Queens and their riders than have another Kylara incident."

Tyrin thought about this and nodded. The thought of T'lana dying made his insides feel hollow; he'd lost too many people he loved to even want to think about losing another. He realised, ashamed, that a tear was trickling down his nose, and wiped it away crossly. R'gar put an arm around him and led him away.

"Come and drink a glass of Benden Red with me." He suggested "- while T'lan works her magic on that silly girl. She'll be all right you know – though she's going to have a scar for life. And then you'd better get back to your classes. I've secured permission for you to sleep here for a couple of days, but your dispensation to skip lessons runs out first thing in the morning."

"Thank you father." Tyrin was grateful. "What about Mirrith?"

"That's what T'lan said. I told her I'd ask you to oil her if you'd time, and then you can tell her how Mirrith is yourself tomorrow."

Tyrin grasped R'gar's hand in gratitude; and with a glance at the light declared that there was time to oil her this evening so long as he had help!

hHhHh

Ferry and the others were expectant and trying to be tactful when Tyrin came in; and he reassured them at once.

"She's going to be all right, and she asks do we mind oiling Mirrith for her?" he said.

"MIND?" exclaimed Kerill.

"I should say not!" Ferry's eyes gleamed.

"A real Golden Dragon?" whispered Lisend, the quiet one.

"She trusts us?" Anslas asked solemnly

"We'll get into trouble." Duthi sounded mournful but his face was glowing

"Who CARES!" Stev declared

"Where do we get the oil?" Ferry wanted to know.

Tyrin shrugged.

"Silvina I guess. It's a legitimate use – we can't get into trouble for it. We've been asked to do a chore by dragonfolk." He grinned.

hHhHh

Mirrith was glad of an oiling now she had stopped worrying about T'lan and stretched luxuriantly. Strangely it was Ferry who displayed nervousness of her as well as Lisend. Tyrin was privately of the opinion that Lisend was the type bullies pick on – he was inclined to get easily upset and seemed to miss his home very much. Tyrin felt that he needed to get on well with Mirrith to encourage him to turn to dragons for aid.

"She sure is big, isn't she?" he said, affecting not to notice that two of the boys hung back. "I was quite scared the first time I saw her – but it was too late to go back on agreeing to ride her to the Weyr then! But she's very kind, aren't you Mirrith dear?"

Mirrith informed all the boys that she might be kind mostly but not until someone had been kind to her first and scratched her itches. Tyrin laughed and complied. Warily Ferry and Lisend approached her, not wanting to lose face; and soon were making a lovely mess with the oil alongside the others. Tyrin grinned. It was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay – even Master Morshall's classes!