urging the rest of the musicians to stand and accept the accolades. Even Bethany stood, a few tears trickling down her cheek at such a unanimous reception.
They gave five encores of the Ballad—with people adding their voices to the chorus as they quickly picked up on the words. When Sheledon ruefully waved off a sixth repeat, there were calls for the “Dragonlove” song which was so appropriate for this evening.
All in all, Sheledon decided as he caught Sydra’s smiling face, a very successful debut! Jemmy had outdone himself and Clisser would be delighted. Perhaps there was something to Clisser’s notion of redesigning the educational system so less time would be wasted on unessentials and the Real Meaning of Life could be addressed sooner.
CHAPTER IV
Telgar Weyr and the College
I T WAS THE W EYRWOMAN , Zulaya, who noticed Debera’s increasing nervousness.
“Go on back to Morath, m’dear. You’re exhausted and you’ll need your sleep.”
“Thank you . . . ah . . .”
“We make no use of titles in the Weyr,” Zulaya added. “Just go. I’ve given you permission, if that’s what you were so politely waiting for.”
Debera murmured her thanks and rose, wanting to slip out as inconspicuously as possible. She’d felt so awkward and unsocial, even when everyone, even the Lord and Lady Holder, had been so incredibly kind and easy. She thought they would expect her to give an explanation of her unusual behavior, but they’d supported her instantly. Really, it was as if her
real
life had started the moment she and Morath had locked eyes,
It had, she decided as she made her way along the side of the cavern wall, head down so she needn’t make eye contact with anyone. She saw only smiles from folks as she passed them, smiles and courtesy. And certainly none of the lascivious behavior that her father had often said was prevalent in the Weyr.
Of course, he’d told her a lot of things. And not told her others. Like the fact that an official announcement of Search, with her name on it, had been delivered to the hold so that she’d know when to come, to be available for the Hatching. No, she’d had to find that, stuffed in the cupboard where bits and pieces that could be reused were kept. No one at Balan Hold, especially her father and stepmother, Gisa, would have thrown out a whole sheet of paper that had a clean side that could be recycled. How she hated that word! Cycle, recycle. Use, reuse. The concept dominated every aspect of Balan Hold. And they were not “poor” in material possessions: not the way some holders were. But “poor” Balan Hold had been in spirit ever since her mother died.
She’d been looking for something else entirely when she found the sheet. Not that she knew the day’s date, but it was obvious that the announcement must have come sometime before, the paper being soiled and the creases well set. Maybe even weeks. She had been ready to accept Ganmar as an alternative to continued living in her father’s house. She knew that she’d have to work as hard, if not harder, setting up a new hold, chiseling it out of rock above the mine, but it would have been hers—and Ganmar’s—and something she could design to her own wishes. Not that she’d been inclined to believe any of the blithe and extravagant promises Ganmar or Boris had made her. All they wanted was a strong body with lots of hard work in it.
But she had seen many dragons in the sky the day before, most of them carrying passengers. Balan Hold was not that far from Telgar Weyr—not even by surface travel. So, the moment she’d read the message, she made her plans right then, without any wavering. She’d been Searched. She had the right to be there. No matter how life in the Weyr might be, it couldn’t be worse than what she now endured. And if she could be a dragonrider . . .
She had tucked the paper into her hip pocket and slammed the drawer shut. She was alone in the kitchen, and
They gave five encores of the Ballad—with people adding their voices to the chorus as they quickly picked up on the words. When Sheledon ruefully waved off a sixth repeat, there were calls for the “Dragonlove” song which was so appropriate for this evening.
All in all, Sheledon decided as he caught Sydra’s smiling face, a very successful debut! Jemmy had outdone himself and Clisser would be delighted. Perhaps there was something to Clisser’s notion of redesigning the educational system so less time would be wasted on unessentials and the Real Meaning of Life could be addressed sooner.
CHAPTER IV
Telgar Weyr and the College
I T WAS THE W EYRWOMAN , Zulaya, who noticed Debera’s increasing nervousness.
“Go on back to Morath, m’dear. You’re exhausted and you’ll need your sleep.”
“Thank you . . . ah . . .”
“We make no use of titles in the Weyr,” Zulaya added. “Just go. I’ve given you permission, if that’s what you were so politely waiting for.”
Debera murmured her thanks and rose, wanting to slip out as inconspicuously as possible. She’d felt so awkward and unsocial, even when everyone, even the Lord and Lady Holder, had been so incredibly kind and easy. She thought they would expect her to give an explanation of her unusual behavior, but they’d supported her instantly. Really, it was as if her
real
life had started the moment she and Morath had locked eyes,
It had, she decided as she made her way along the side of the cavern wall, head down so she needn’t make eye contact with anyone. She saw only smiles from folks as she passed them, smiles and courtesy. And certainly none of the lascivious behavior that her father had often said was prevalent in the Weyr.
Of course, he’d told her a lot of things. And not told her others. Like the fact that an official announcement of Search, with her name on it, had been delivered to the hold so that she’d know when to come, to be available for the Hatching. No, she’d had to find that, stuffed in the cupboard where bits and pieces that could be reused were kept. No one at Balan Hold, especially her father and stepmother, Gisa, would have thrown out a whole sheet of paper that had a clean side that could be recycled. How she hated that word! Cycle, recycle. Use, reuse. The concept dominated every aspect of Balan Hold. And they were not “poor” in material possessions: not the way some holders were. But “poor” Balan Hold had been in spirit ever since her mother died.
She’d been looking for something else entirely when she found the sheet. Not that she knew the day’s date, but it was obvious that the announcement must have come sometime before, the paper being soiled and the creases well set. Maybe even weeks. She had been ready to accept Ganmar as an alternative to continued living in her father’s house. She knew that she’d have to work as hard, if not harder, setting up a new hold, chiseling it out of rock above the mine, but it would have been hers—and Ganmar’s—and something she could design to her own wishes. Not that she’d been inclined to believe any of the blithe and extravagant promises Ganmar or Boris had made her. All they wanted was a strong body with lots of hard work in it.
But she had seen many dragons in the sky the day before, most of them carrying passengers. Balan Hold was not that far from Telgar Weyr—not even by surface travel. So, the moment she’d read the message, she made her plans right then, without any wavering. She’d been Searched. She had the right to be there. No matter how life in the Weyr might be, it couldn’t be worse than what she now endured. And if she could be a dragonrider . . .
She had tucked the paper into her hip pocket and slammed the drawer shut. She was alone in the kitchen, and
Similar Books
