Free Masterharper of Pern by Anne McCaffrey

lessons you asked us to teach her.”
    Halibran was astonished; the brothers muttered amongst themselves.
    “That is too fine a voice to be misused,” Master Gennell said, glancing up in the direction of the outraged cries. Strips of clothing flapped out of the window and drifted to the ground. “Or abused. We have disciplined recalcitrant students before now. She may be,” and Master Gennell paused significantly, “unusually obdurate, but give me leave to doubt she is beyond redemption.”
    “I’d say she is,” the brother murmured, and received a buffet on his leg from his glaring father.
    “Give us until the Spring Solstice, Holder Halibran, and you will be pleased with the change.”
    “How do you propose to achieve that?” the holder asked, tucking his gloved thumbs into his thick riding belt and regarding not only Gennell but the others on the top step.
    “If you would make it . . . exceedingly . . . plain to her,” Gennell said, “that such antics cut no ice with you, that you will no longer condone her behavior or rescue her from its consequences, she will soon capitulate.”
    Halibran considered as he removed his gloves, stowed them in the saddle bag, and flexed his fingers. “If she does, it will be the first time in her life,” he said, “but it had better come now.” He opened and closed his fists.
    The expression of profound satisfaction was mirrored by all three brothers and, indeed, the other six men of the party.
    “I’ll lead the way,” Gennell said affably, and as Betrice and Ginia fell into step with Holder Halibran, they disappeared into the Hall.
    “Is that the girl you said had a superb voice, Petiron?” Grogellan asked, moving up to the steps from where he and his men had witnessed the interview.
    The oldest brother, recognizing that this was the Lord of Fort Hold, respectfully dismounted and gestured for the others to do so, inclining his upper body politely to one of higher rank. Just then Halanna’s voice rasped to an even higher note, almost a wail, and Petiron winced.
    “If she keeps on forcing the upper register like that,” Washell remarked to no one in particular, “she may end up soprano instead of alto. If she’s any voice left at all.”
    “Hmmm,” was Grogellan’s reply, as he turned his head up to the window. “She certainly shouldn’t be allowed to carry on like that.”
    “It’s a specialty of hers,” the oldest brother remarked. “She’s developed it into a fine art, and none of us”—he included his brothers—“could do a thing about it.”
    Grogellan looked at him with such a glare that he grimaced, shrugging his shoulders. Fort’s Lord Holder did not approve of sons criticizing their fathers, no matter what the cause.
    “Any moment, now,” Washell said, grinning in happy expectation.
    He was right. Halanna’s shriek broke off abruptly. There was a long wait for those on the ground before her voice was heard again, and this time her shout was defiance mixed with astonishment. That tone altered to outraged cries, screams, and finally into penitent sobs which gradually, over the next few minutes, dwindled into silence. Or at least to a level that was not audible to those below.
    To give him credit, the oldest brother controlled his expression as he turned to Washell. “Our mounts need to be refreshed before we start back,” he said.
    “Then follow us,” Grogellan said. “You will guest at the Hold, for I know the Harper Hall is presently filled to capacity.” He gestured for the Istans to follow him.
    The oldest brother, astonished and grateful for Grogellan’s hospitality, looked from him to the doorway of the Harper Hall. “I should await my father.” He turned back to Grogellan. “I am Brahil, and those two are my brothers, Landon and Brosil,” he said by way of introduction. “And Gostol, here, is our good captain who sailed us here.”
    Grogellan nodded approval of Brahil’s manners and, leaving the young man to wait