"There is always room for... our brother... here at Tillek Hold, any time you care to claim it," the Lord Holder said formally and held out his hand. "I think Master Gennell wants you to bring that good Ruathan runner back with you." He gave a little smile. "Young Groghe's to go home too. You can keep each other company. He'll make a good Lord Holder when he inherits."
"He'll be wary of Fax, too."
Melongel's eyebrows rose and his eyes caught Robinton's. "Yes, he will, and that's all to the good."
Two mornings later, having allowed his runner a good rest, Robinton rode south with Groghe, retracing their original route and spending two days with Sucho, Tortole and their family. He had Saday's bowl with him, and showed her how much he treasured it.
The wall was up, and many of the capping slabs were athwart its expanse rather than on one side or the other. To Robinton this meant that at least the two holders had resolved their differences. A small satisfaction to take back with him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was easier to be in the Harper Hall again, surrounded by the hopes of the new young apprentices, immersed in his studies for his Mastery, which was what Master Gennell suggested he apply himself to for the rest of the summer.
But it was still a shock when Robinton heard the unmistakable music of his sonata pouring out of the open windows of the rehearsal hall.
How dared they? How had they got the music? He had kept his copy, but he had never ... Then he remembered that he had given his mother a copy when she'd come for their espousal. But surely she wouldn't ...
He tore out of his room, pounding down the stairs to the rehearsal hall, trying with the noise of his boots to drown out the music he had so lovingly created for his Kasia. He flung open the door, startling the instrumentalists, his mother and Petiron.
"How dare you play that?" And he advanced on his mother as if he would rip the harp from her lap.
"How dare you?" Petiron demanded, infuriated by the interruption.
"It's my music. No one plays it without my permission."
"Robie ..." his mother began, rising to her feet and starting to come towards him. She stopped abruptly when he recoiled, holding his hands out in protest as much against the sympathy and pity in her face as against any contact. He almost hated her. How could she have let Petiron see his music, the sonata he had composed for Kasia, only for her? "I loved Kasia, too, Robinton. I'm playing it for her. Every time the Kasia Sonata is played, her memory will be invoked. She lives on in this beautiful music; she will be remembered with it. You must allow her that! You need to allow yourself that."
He just looked at her, feeling the anger drain away under her stern gaze. The other players remained so motionless that he scarcely noted their presence.
Then his father cleared his throat. "The sonata is the best thing you've ever written," Petiron said, without a trace of condescension in his voice.
Robinton turned slowly to look at the MasterComposer.
"It is," he said, and, turning on his heel, he left the room.
He put wadding in his ears when he went back to his room so that he wouldn't have to hear the music. But some of it penetrated and towards the end of the rehearsal – which was almost a straight run-through, given the quality of the musicians performing – he took the wadding out. Listening to the rondo and the finale, he let the tears run unheeded down his face.
Yes, it was the best piece of music he had written. And listening to it, somehow he found he could think of Kasia without the terrible sense of loss and the constriction around his heart. As the final chords died away, he sighed and went back to his studying.
He tried to absent himself from the Hall whenever he knew they were practising the sonata – even if its chords sometimes seemed to follow him no matter how far away he took himself.
When it was performed at the Autumn Gather, he did not go to the performance. Instead, he saddled his Ruathan runner and took a long ride, camping out overnight. But his dreams were laden with memories of Kasia and he woke sweating, to lie awake until dawn, still remembering what he had loved about her: her laugh, the crinkling of her eyes, the lilt in her voice, the way she would swing her hips, deliberately enticing him.
Winter was just settling over Fort Hold with an early snowshower when Master Gennell came looking for him.
"Ah, Rob," he said, coming towards him. Placing a fatherly arm across Robinton's shoulders, he guided the younger harper into his office. "We've an emergency. Recall Karenchok, thin, dark-skinned journeyman in the same group as Shonagar?"
"Oh, yes, I do."
"Well, he's broken his leg badly and will be unable to complete his rounds. Would you be willing to take over for him down in South Boll? Until he's able to travel again?"
Robinton was delighted to do so and hastily organized his packs for a noontime departure. He paused only long enough to tell his mother where he was going and why. She listened, nodding her head and giving him an encouraging little smile. As she walked him to the door, she reached up to caress his cheek.
"The sonata received a tremendous ovation, Rob," she said softly.
He nodded, took her hand, kissed it, and left.
Karenchok's home base was a cluster of seaside holds on the eastern shore of South Boll. It was hot and steamy when Robinton arrived, and the SeaHolder greeted him enthusiastically.
"We've all been worried about him, Journeyman. He's very popular here, and so we've kept someone with him to help."
"You're very kind, Holder Matsen. Master Gennell asked me to thank you for your care."
"We've a very good healer, local woman but trained properly in the Hall. She's been overseeing his care, but she's busy too."
The Holder was a short man, stockily built in the barrel, with thin legs that didn't look strong enough to hold up the weight he carried. But he moved quickly as he led the way to the cot set back from the little harbour. There was a long chair out in front, made by attaching a flat-topped stool to a padded chair. Vines had been trained over a lattice to shield the front from the morning sun.
"Ho, Karenchok, brought you a guest," Matsen bellowed, giving advance warning.
A woman appeared in the door, giving the loose, long skirt she wore a final twitch. Her smile was guileless as she greeted harper and Holder
"Ah, Laela, that's where you got to," said Matsen in a slightly strained voice.
Laela's smile turned on Robinton, and her eyes widened slightly. Then her manner became subtly seductive and her smile warmer.
"This is Journeyman Harper Robinton," Matsen said stiffly.
"Laela helps Healer Saretta with hold-bound patients."
"I do my part," she said in a sultry voice, and Robinton felt his lips twitching. He could not deny her sensuality – or that it was affecting him. It was the first time in the nearly nine months since Kasia's death that he had felt this way. He didn't know if this was a good thing or not, but there was no missing the invitation in Laela's voice and eyes as she slid past him. "Karenchok is in good spirits," she said, her laughter trailing her departure.
In spite of himself, Robinton turned to see where she went.
"Karenchok is here," Matsen said, prompting his attention.
"Sorry."
Matsen cleared his throat and led the way into the cot.
Karenchok was sitting by the table, his splinted leg straight out in front of him and a pair of wooden crotches handily slanted against another chair. Robinton did recognize him: one of Shonagar's wrestling partners. Seeing Robinton, Karenchok waved a friendly hand.
"I remember you, Robinton," he said in greeting. "Very good of Gennell to send me help so quickly. Come, sit. Matsen, can you find the wine-skin for me?"
Matsen did, but not without a glance which told Robinton that Karenchok had been drinking rather more than might be good for him. A curious peek at the label on the skin disclosed the fact that this was a Tillek red, which was likely harsh. Well, it was wine and would go down as well as best Benden.
"Well, the misbegotten runner got me into the ditch; it was up to me to get out."
The phrases caught Robinton's attention: "Got into, get out!" Notes began once more to spin in his head.
He didn't get the rest of the tune until much later, but it was a start, and he was grateful to be able to think music again.
Although he had spent some time with his mother's family on the west coast, this part of eastern South Boll was quite different, with land sloping down into fine beaches and piers thrust far out to where the water was deep enough to accommodate the fishing boats. He even forced himself to go out to sea in Matsen's sloop, though it was five times the size of the sloop he and Kasia had sailed. But he made another step forward out of grief by doing so.
Tactful questioning of Karenchok elicited the information that Laela was her own person, beholding to none. She gave her favours where she would, and Karenchok was grateful for her generosity.
So was Robinton, although he winced when she boldly claimed that she would lift the sadness from his eyes. It annoyed her that she couldn't – though she tried often enough during his winter stay at the SeaHold.
Just after turn's End at the SeaHold, a dragon was spotted in the skies. The children Robinton was teaching at that moment could not contain their excitement: it wasn't often that dragons came this far south. As Robinton shielded his eyes from the brightness of the morning sun on the water, he tentatively spoke the name.
"Simanith? Is that you?"
It is, and there was such a note of joyfulness in the dragon's voice – so like F'lon's – that Robinton grinned.
"What is it? What brings you so far away from Benden?" Robinton asked.
You. We've been to the Hall. They told us you were here.
F'lon was half-off Simanith's neck before the big bronze had touched the sand of the beach.
"I'm a father, Rob, I'm a father!" F'lon shouted, waving one arm and charging up the strand to thump the harper soundly on the back. He had a wine-skin thrown over the other shoulder. "A son!
Lama gave me a son!"
"Lama? So you did get her!" Robinton had to dismiss the pang in his heart. Kasia had been alive when he'd first learned about F'lon's interest in the grown-up Lama, who had been such a plaguey nuisance to Falloner, the boy.
"Dismiss your class, Rob," F'lon ordered. "Off you go, children! Class again tomorrow."
Robinton had to laugh at the dragonrider's high-handed way, but F'lon's exultation brought smiles to the fishmen mending nets on the strand. Robinton hurriedly introduced F'lon to Matsen and the others, and then led his old friend to the cot he shared with Karenchok.
"A fine strong lad, just like his sire," F'lon boasted, splashing wine into the cups Karenchok hastily set out.
"Don't waste this," Robinton said, having had a taste of the white wine that was being so liberally poured. "It's Benden, isn't it?"
"What else would I provide to toast the health of my first son?" F'lon demanded, and he quaffed his glass dry.
It was a merry time, though all too short because F'lon was anxious to return to Benden and his child.
"I gather Lama did forgive you for pushing her into the midden, then?" Robinton remarked after listening to F'lon's ravings.
The dragonrider gave him a startled look. "I never pushed her into the midden. That was Rangul. R'gul, I should say. That isn't where he'd've liked to push her, but I' – and he slapped his chest proudly – "got her as weyrmate, not R'gul."
"I'm sure she'll be happier with you," Robinton said, remembering what a stuffy child Rangul had been.
"Of course she will," F'lon replied. Finishing his third, or maybe fourth, glass of wine, he decided he had best return to the Weyr,
Lama and his son. "I've named him Fallamon."
"A fine choice for a dragonrider-to-be."
"Bronze, of course," F'lon added as he waved a cheerful goodbye to Karenchok.
"He came all the way from Benden Weyr to tell you that?" Karenchok asked, hobbling to the doorway to watch the drug-onrider depart.
"We're old friends."
"Good friends." Karenchok lifted his wineglass appreciatively.
"You don't get good Benden often in South Boll."
Nine days later a runner brought Robinton a short message from F'lon: Larna had died two days after Fallarnon's birth. Robinton sent back a message by the same runner, expressing his condolences.
In his heart, though, Robinton envied F'lon, who had a son to remember his love by.
When Karenchok was finally walking soundly and able to ride again, Robinton reluctantly bequeathed him the Ruathan runner – a much sounder and smarter animal than the weedy elderly runt which had thrown him. He rode Karenchok's back to the Hall, having no other, and it was indeed the most uncomfortable of runner-beasts.
The first thing he did when he got back to the Harper Hall was to tell the beastholder to get rid of this bag of bones and find him a new riding animal. His second action was to find his mother. He didn't like what he saw and taxed her with questions about her health.
"I'm fine, I'm fine, love, really. Just a little tired. It's been a busy winter, you know."
Robinton was not so easily put off and cornered the MasterHealer the next morning.
"She does seem fine, Rob," Ginia replied slowly, "but I know, as you do, that she's not. She's losing weight, yet I see her eating well at table. I've my eye on her, never fear. She and Betrice."
"Betrice?" Robinton realized that he hadn't seen the MasterHarper's spouse, who was usually busy about the Hall somewhere. "What's wrong with Betrice?" Was his whole world crumbling about him? Were all the people he loved and admired suddenly showing their mortality?
Ginia laid a hand on his arm, her expressive eyes sad. "There is so much we don't know and can't help." She paused and then sighed. "Sometimes people just wear out. But I promise you I'm watching your mother carefully."
"And Betrice?"
"And Betrice," Ginia said with a nod.
At dinner that evening, Robinton sat next to Betrice, noting the slight wobble in her hand as she ate and trying not to see it. So he regaled her with the funniest incidents he could remember, and her laughter was as ready as even Once their eyes met and locked, and she gave him a funny little smile and patted his hand.
"Don't worry., Rob," she said in a low voice, turning her head away from her spouse who was involved in a lengthy exploration of some legal point with a journeyman whom Robinton remembered as another of Shonagar's voice students.
"Just you take good care of yourself, too, Betrice," Robinton said with as much love as he could put in his low tone.
"Oh, I do. I do."
Robinton had to be content with such reassurances, and the following morning he accepted the next assignment Master Gennell had for him: this time in Keroon.
"You haven't been to the plains yet, have you? Good experience, Rob, good experience. Again it's a short contract." Gennell passed Robinton a piece of hide. "These are the holds you do not go to."
"Do not ...?" Robinton was surprised and scanned the nine names listed.
"Yes," the MasterHarper said. "I'm sorry to say, harpers are not always regarded with the respect they formerly were, as I think you've discovered a time or two."
Robinton grimaced. "But why? We're only trying to help. We don't tell people lies ..."
Gennell cocked his head, a sad smile turning down the corner of his expressive mouth. "There are many who feel that the Duty
Song is lies."
"Honouring the dragonriders?"
Gennell nodded. "That's one so-called lie. You have realized that, even in the larger holds, some feel that the Weyr and its riders are relics of a past danger we no longer need to consider."
"But, Master Gennell ..."
The MasterHarper held up his hand and gave a brief smile. "You have had a long association with the one remaining Weyr. Many nowadays have never even seen a dragon in the sky, much less met a dragonrider. Sometimes Search is misinterpreted, too, although there have been few enough of them lately." He sighed and gestured to the list. "Just save yourself grief and avoid those holds. We can't force people to learn when they've no wish to listen."
As Robinton was on his way out of the courtyard on the new young Ruathan runner-beast he had used his savings to purchase, a runner came trotting in: a man who was very familiar to him.
"Ah, you, wait a minute ..." And Robinton reined his mount about. The runner had dutifully halted and turned to face him. "I thought it was you."
The man smiled briefly. "I've fooled many."
"Ah, but I'm a harper and as trained to notice details as you are.
Did you find Mallan?" he asked.
Hope died as the man's face drained of any expression. He shook his head. "He died in the mines. That much I discovered." Then his expression altered to a fierce hatred. "I'll get Fax yet."
"If you don't, I will." And with that promise, Robinton rode out of the courtyard.
Though he was welcomed wherever he went on the Keroon Plains, he occasionally felt the resistance to some of the traditional Teaching Ballads and did his best to discuss the concepts with the adults in the hold, reminding them of the Charter's provisions.
Often his evenings were spent in copying out that document so that it would be available to counteract the question of "lying'. He did feel that he got his message across to the doubters.
Several times he was warned by his host that "yon feller's not so friendly' and, if asked to play in the evening, Robinton carefully restricted his selections to unremarkable love songs or dance tunes. Even so, he sometimes had to ignore sullen looks and manners.
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