Dragonsblood (14 page)

more from you.”

Wind Blossom smiled and patted his hand. “You were a good student,

Janir.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Janir said, gripping her hand with his.

Wind Blossom turned to leave. “I think I’ll review my notes in my room.” As

Janir nodded understanding, she added, “If you need me—”

“I will be sure to send someone for you, my lady,” Janir finished. He bit his

lip reflectively. “I hope you are not too concerned about the memory loss. It

is concentrated in your short-term and recent memories.” Wind Blossom

turned back to face him as he continued, “Your knowledge of genetics is as

good as it ever was and should remain so.”

“Yes,” Wind Blossom replied, turning back to the door, “but I am trying to

learn reconstructive facial surgery, Janir.”

She left before the embarrassed healer could form any reply.

Tieran leaned into his stroke as he beat out the all clear. He had filled out

and muscled up from the awkward sixteen-year-old he’d been when he first

joined the tower. Now, at eighteen, his body was lean and tightly muscled

from daily work.

He grinned as he heard his drumbeats echoing back along the cliff wall that

housed Fort Hold. The echo didn’t mask the responses from the

higher-pitched walking drummers in the surrounding minor holds and fields.

Jendel had been right to argue for siting the Drum Tower built between Fort

Hold and the College. The shape of the cliffs made a natural reflector that

concentrated the sound of his drum.

Because the location left the Large Drum exposed to all elements and

particularly susceptible to Thread, it was secured in one of the rooms

beside the Drum Tower during Threadfall. Jendel had made a habit of

drilling his drummers in disassembling and reassembling the Large Drum.

Tieran and Rodar, working as a team, had set the best time.

Tieran had come to the Drum Tower at a propitious time. The tower had

only been completed a month before, and Jendel had still been

experimenting with the best way to use the drums. Tieran had quickly

learned the original code, mastered it, and developed a second, superior

set of drum codes that Jendel and the rest of the drummers had

enthusiastically adopted.

When Tieran had first escaped to the Drum Tower, he had expected to be

unceremoniously hauled back to Wind Blossom. It had been half a year

before he had allowed himself to believe that he had been left to fend for

himself. It had taken him much longer to recognize that his place within the

College was secure.

Tieran took advantage of his lofty and panoramic position to drink in the

sights and sounds below him. When he was up here, two stories high and

several dragonlengths from both the College and the Hold, no one could

really see his face. From the heights of the Drum Tower, Tieran felt master

of all he surveyed.

He saw Lord Holder Mendin on his way to the College—so soon after a

Fall? Shifting his gaze, he saw Mendin’s eldest son, Leros, hot and weary,

trudging in from the fields surrounded by flamethrower crews, apparently

doing the job that his father should have been doing. Studying the two, he

failed to notice Jendel’s jaunty step until the head drummer was halfway up

the stairs to the tower.

“Tieran!” Jendel called out as he crested the stairs. Without pausing for

breath, he continued, “You’re needed back at the College. See Dean

Emorra.”

Tieran raised his eyebrows momentarily in surprise, then placed the huge

drumsticks back on their hooks and reached for his shirt.

“Bring lunch for us when you come back,” Jendel added as Tieran started

down the stairs. “And Kassa—you two will relieve us.”

“All right,” Tieran called back unheard over his shoulder with an

acknowledging wave of his hand. There were always two on the Drum

Tower.

Classes, Tieran guessed to himself as he crossed under the archway into

the College. He made his way to the small classroom reserved for the

drummers.

Emorra was waiting for him outside the door. “I want you to teach some of

the youngsters drum code.”

Tieran cocked an eyebrow at her. When he had first been asked to teach,

just after he had proved the value of his new codes to Jendel, he had been

afraid of standing in front of a group of people with his scarred face and

gangly body. But the first group had all been older students in their

twenties, and they had all been intent on one thing: learning the new codes.

Once he realized that, Tieran had thrown himself with enthusiasm and

creativity into the job of imparting the new codes to them.

After several classes, Tieran had realized that some of the drummers

weren’t learning the codes to work in the Drum Tower or in Mendin’s

outlying minor holds. Some of the older students had left the College,

taking their knowledge of the drum codes with them.

Others had been even more enterprising. They had taken their knowledge

of the drum codes and brought them back to the music that many

considered to be the life and the soul of the College. Emorra had told him

that his codes had not developed into a new form of music. Rather, the

drumming had allowed musicians to create new works both of jazz and of

traditional old-Earth Celtic music. Tieran had been surprised, then pleased,

and, finally, an enthusiastic participant in the music that had resulted.

Emorra recognized Tieran’s raised eyebrow with a nod. “I was wondering if

working with drums and the drum codes might be a good way to teach

musical beat.”

Tieran nodded, trying to hide his hesitation, but Emorra noticed it.

“They’re a good group; I just had them,” she told him, handing him a small

drum.

Tieran’s heart sank as Emorra left. He hefted the drum, placed it under one

arm, and absently beat out a quick tattoo—“trouble.” Inspiration struck, and

he quickly amplified the beat and modified it.

He entered the room still drumming and took his place at the front of the

class. There were eleven students in the class. All of them were

young—the eldest hardly looked eleven and the youngest was close to

seven years old. This was the youngest class he’d ever seen.

He switched the beat, changed the rhythm, and started a new message, still

while watching his students. Two or three were unconsciously trying to

imitate his beat on their drums and all of them were attentive.

With a flourish, Tieran finished his message and set the drum down on the

teacher’s table. He looked at the youngsters. “Now that I’ve said all that, are

there any questions?”

The eyes of the youngsters widened and there was silence in the

classroom until one of the older girls raised her hand. Tieran grinned and

nodded at her.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“I told you my name and welcomed you to the class on drumming, and

asked you why you were here,” he answered. “Would you like to learn

how?”

Every head in the class nodded, eyes wide. Tieran kept his smile to himself

and started teaching the basics of drum beat and rhythm.

He was pleased to finish the lesson on a high note, having the class drum

out the message “It’s lunchtime” just in time with the sounding of the hour.

“And with that, class, I take my leave,” he told them. The youngsters were

very polite. Most of them came up to him and thanked him for the class and

told him that they hoped he’d be teaching them again.

Emorra was waiting outside the class. She fell in with him as he walked

toward the kitchen. “I take it you survived, then?”

Tieran nodded. “Nice kids.”

“Would you be willing to teach them again?”

“Sure.”

With a frustrated groan, Emorra whirled around in front of him, forcing him

to stop. “And?”

Startled, Tieran’s first thought was to realize suddenly that he was taller than

Emorra—and that he liked that. “What?”

Emorra gritted her teeth, then sighed to regain her temper. “Every class is a

lesson for the teacher.”

Tieran nodded. “I’ve heard you say that before. I guess it makes sense.”

“So,” she asked with a tone of strained patience in her voice, “what did you

learn today?”

“I guess that I might be able to teach younger students,” Tieran said.

Emorra’s eyes flashed. Tieran had seen that look before, and always when

she was frustrated, usually in debates when she was about to make a telling

point.

He raised his hands in surrender. “What do you think I would have

learned?”

Emorra shook her head, dismissing his question. Ever since Tieran had

hidden up in the Drum Tower he had become something of a project for

her. The young man’s rebellion against her mother had sparked Emorra’s

interest in him. Her interest had increased when she had learned that Tieran

had developed the improved drum codes. When she had discovered how

much his teenaged feelings of not belonging had been reinforced by

reactions to his scarred face, she had tried to find ways to help.

Tieran’s stomach grumbled. With an apologetic shrug, he stepped around

Emorra and gestured for her to follow as he resumed his way to the

kitchen.

“You’re worried about me,” he said after a moment’s silence.

Emorra nodded. “I worry about everyone.”

Tieran snorted. “Then you worry too much.”

“It’s my job! Like everything else on Pern, the College has to earn its keep.

So the students pay tuition and the teachers are paid for their research. And

any profits are put into new projects.”

“Like the Drum Tower—I know,” Tieran said.

They reached the kitchen. “I’ve got to get food for Jendel and the others

and bring it to the tower.”

“I’ll help,” Emorra offered.

“Thanks,” Tieran said, surprised that the dean of the College would offer to

do such a menial task.

Happily, Alandro and Moira were working in the kitchen that day. Alandro

had been a fixture in the College’s kitchen since the Fever Year, when he

had arrived as a sick orphan. As soon as he recovered, he gravitated

toward the kitchen, willing to do any job cheerfully. Now in his fourth

decade, he was no less cheerful and not much slower in the kitchen than he

had been when he first arrived.

Moira was a more recent arrival. She had started with the College as a

fosterling but had refused to leave when she reached her majority two

years ago. She said that nowhere could she find as good a kitchen as at the

College and she refused to work with second best, even though every

major holder had tried to lure her away.

“I need four lunches for the Drum Tower,” Tieran told them as he stepped

into the kitchen.

Moira’s scowl—she was a fierce guardian of her domain—cleared when

she identified him. “And in return, you’ll . . .”

Tieran grinned and bowed low. “I shall sing your praises to each and every

one of my fellow drummers.”

Moira quirked an eyebrow at him and pursed her lips humorously. “Best not

sing, Tieran. I still don’t think your voice has settled.”

“It has,” Tieran corrected sadly. “It’s just that’s all there is to it.”

She gave him a judicious look. “In that case—an hour’s sculling after

dinner.”

Tieran considered the counteroffer for a moment before nodding. “Done!

But only if you’ll let me make meringues.”

Moira’s face brightened at the prospect. “Deal!” She turned to her kitchen

partner. “Did you hear that, Alandro? Tieran’s doing the yucky dishes this

evening!”

The large helper looked down thoughtfully at the small cook, then over at

Tieran, who waved, and asked, “Meringues, too?”

“Yes,” Moira agreed, “he’ll make meringues.” She found a soup ladle and

waved it at Tieran threateningly. “Only no rose extract this time—costs a

fortune and you haven’t learned restraint.”

Emorra smiled as she took in the byplay. She liked the way Moira went to

the trouble of actually
finding
something to wave threateningly at Tieran.

She was also relieved to see that Tieran was so warmly welcomed in the

kitchen.

Of course, he’d be a fool to get on the bad side of the College’s best

cook—and it was becoming clear to Emorra that Tieran was no fool.

“Wait a minute,” she said aloud. “Those are
your
meringues?”

Tieran nodded.

“They’re good.” Emorra gave him a longer, more appraising look. “You can

cook, clean, teach—”

“No more hot boxes,” Alandro interrupted her, pointing to two trays.

“Yes, the last of the thermal units cracked yesterday,” Moira agreed sadly.

“That’s why I’ve put your soup in small bowls and made sandwiches. If you

lot want hot food from now on, you’ll have to eat in the hall.”

“Are there any of the thermos flasks left?” Tieran asked. “It gets very cold

on the top of the Drum Tower at night.”

“I imagine it does,” Moira agreed. “There are two, but they’re both

reserved.” She smiled at Emorra. “One’s for you, Dean, and the other’s for

your mother.”

Tieran nodded as he picked up a tray. Emorra picked up the second one.

“Maybe you could rig up a fire,” Emorra suggested as they made their way

out of the College toward the Drum Tower.

“There’s no place for it,” Tieran replied. “Besides, I think it would be a fair