“Not with the tides so high this season.”

“There must be some beaches deep enough.” Elgion felt impatient with Alemi’s arguments.

The Sea Man motioned Elgion out of the tiller seat, and deftly tacked about.

“I saw fire lizards about the Dragon Stones. And those crags’d be right good weyrs. Not that I think we’d have a chance of seeing them today. They feed at dawn: that’s when I saw them. Only,” and Alemi chuckled, “I thought my eyes were deceiving me since it was the end of a long watch and a man’s eyes can play tricks with him at dawn.”

Alemi sailed the little skiff far closer to the Dragon Stones than Elgion would have dared. In fact the Harper found himself gripping the weatherboard very hard and edging his body away from the towering crags as the skiff breezed lightly by. There was no doubt that the crags were riddled with holes, likely weyrs for fire lizards.

“I wouldn’t try this tack except when the tide is full, Elgion,” said Alemi as they sailed between the innermost crag and the tide-washed land. “There’s a right mess of bottom-reaming rocks here even at half-tide.”

It was quiet, too, with the waves softly caressing the narrow verge of sand between sea and cliff. Quiet enough for the unmistakable sound of piping to carry across the water to Elgion.

“Did you hear that?” Elgion grabbed Alemi’s arm.

“Hear what?”

“The music!”

“What music?” Alemi wondered briefly if the sun were strong enough to give the Harper a stroke. But he sharpened his ears for any unusual sound, following the line of Elgion’s stare to the cliffs. His heart leaped for a moment, but he said, “Music? Nonsense! Those cliffs are riddled with caves and holes. All you hear is the wind ... ”

“There isn’t any wind now ... ”

Alemi had to admit that because he’d let the boom out and was even beginning to wonder if they had enough wind to come about on a tack that would clear the northern side of the stones.

“And look,” said Elgion, “there’s a hole in the cliff face. Big enough for a person to get into, I’d wager. Alemi, can’t we go inshore?”

“Not unless we walk home, or wait for high tide again.”

“Alemi! That’s music! Not wind over blow holes! That’s someone playing pipes.”

An unhappy furtive thought crossed Alemi’s face so plainly that Elgion jumped to a conclusion. All at once, all the pieces fell into place.

“Your sister, the one who’s missing. She wrote those songs. She taught the children, not that conveniently dismissed fosterling!”

“Menolly’s not playing any pipes, Elgion. She sliced her left hand, gutting packtail, and she can’t open or close her fingers.”