Dragonriders of Pern 6 - Dragondrums Read Online Free PDF

gear, examining himself from all angles in the one mirrored surface of the apprentice dormitory.

    He heard the burst of shouts as the chorus was released and peered cautiously over the sill. Most of the boys and young men swarmed across the Court to the Hall. But Master Domick, music rolled in one fist, strode purposefully toward Master Shonagar’s hall. The last to exit was Tilgin, head bowed, shoulders slumped, weary from what must have been an exhausting rehearsal. Piemur grinned; he had warned Tilgin to study the part. One never knew when Master Domick might call on the understudy. There was always the chance of a bad throat or a hacking cough for a soloist. Not that Piemur had ever been sick for performance…until this one. Piemur gave a sour note. He really had wanted to sing Lessa in Domick’s ballad. He’d sort of counted on coming to the Benden Weyrwoman’s notice that way. It was always wise to be known to the two Benden Weyrleaders, and this would have been the perfect opportunity.

    Ah well, there were more ways of skinning a herdbeast than shaving him with a table-knife.

    He folded his new clothing carefully in his bedpress, giving the fur a smoothing twitch. Then quickly glanced out the window again. Now, while Master Domick was busy with Master Shonagar, would be the time for him to slip into the dining hall, Keep out of sight, and soon enough he’d be out of Domick’s mind. Not that Piemur was at fault. This time.

    A shame, really. Lessa’s melody was the loveliest Domick had ever written. It had so suited his range. Once again a lump pushed up in his throat at the sadness of the lost opportunity. And probably a Turn before he could try to sing again. Nor was there a guarantee that he’d have anywhere near as good a singing voice as an adult as he’d had as a boy. None at all. He’d miss being able to astonish people with the pure tone he could produce, the marvelous flexibility, the perfect sense of pitch and timing, not to mention his particularly acute skill at note-reading.

    His reflections caused him sufficient pangs of regrets so that, when he drifted past the first group of apprentices in the court, they paused in their play and watched his slow progress with awed silence.

    He trudged up the steps, past apprentices and journeymen, eyes down, hands flopping at his sides, the picture of dejection. Scorch it, would he have to pretend to have lost his appetite? He could smell roast wherry, succulent, and dripping with juices. And then, berry pies.

    However, if he managed his tablemates adroitly… Hunger warred with greed, and there was nothing feigned about his expression of sad reflection when the dining room began to fill.

    Piemur, deep in his plans, was aware of being flanked by silent boys. But the chubby fist visible on the left was Brolly’s. The stained, dirty, calloused, nail-bitten hand on the right was Timiny’s. His good friends were standing by him in this moment of loss. He let out a long, draggling sigh, heard Brolly shift his feet uncomfortably, saw Timiny extend his hand tentatively to draw it back slowly, uncertain how a gesture of sympathy would be received. Well, Timiny might just give him both pies, Piemur thought.

    Suddenly everyone moved, and a quick glance at the round table told Piemur that Master Robinton had taken his place. A flash of blue and gray past his lowered eyes was probably Menolly moving to take her place at a journeyman’s table.

    Ranly and Bon sat directly opposite Piemur, regarding him with wide and worried eyes. He gave them a sad half-smile. When the platter of roast wherry slices came to him, he heaved another sigh and fumbled for a slice. He stared at it on his plate instead of attacking it immediately. But then, generally, he’d have taken as many slices as he could knife onto his plate without raising uproars from his mates. He did like roast tubers, but restrainedly took only a small one. He ate slowly so that his stomach would think it