father's precepts and philosophies? Able to appreciate his father's achievements? Able to accept his father's training? No, Petiron decided at that instant, he would keep Robinton under his direction, to be sure that he received the requisite training. Nor would Petiron make a favourite of his son in the Hall simply because of their relationship. The boy would have to measure up to the same standards as every other apprentice ...
'Robinton!' he called as he strode purposefully to the boy's small room in their quarters. The door was ajar and the room rather neat, considering that a child lived in it. The bed was made, the few toys were neatly stacked on the shelf; and then he noticed the pipes beside the toys, and the small harp case. Someone else was teaching his son how to play the harp!
Now Petiron began to feel a righteous anger. Merelan was behaving in a most peculiar fashion. First by her silence over Robinton's ability and then by letting someone else train his son...
He strode out of the room and out of his quarters; he was starting down the stairs when Master Gennell came out of his rooms at the top of the steps.
'Ah, Petiron, I need a moment of your time ...'
Petiron stopped, glancing down the steps, wondering where Merelan had gone in such a huff and where his son might be. The MasterHarper had the right to a moment of his time whenever he so chose. This was not a good moment, however, for any interview, no matter how pressing. For once common sense, rather than professional courtesy, prompted the MasterComposer. He had to find both his spouse and his son. Now! Before more damage could be done in the matter of Robinton's training.
'Now, Petiron,' Master Gennell said, frowning when he saw the hesitation, the conflict of duties.
'With respect, Master...' Petiron began, barely keeping his tone civil.
'Now, MasterComposer,' Gennell said firmly.
'My son ...' Petiron tried the only viable excuse available.
'It is about your son that I wish to speak with you,' Gennell said, and his frown so surprised Petiron that he found himself altering his direction towards the MasterHarper's rooms.
'About Robinton?'
Gennell nodded and ushered the MasterComposer into his workroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.
'About Robinton.' He waved Petiron to a seat before he sat opposite, clasping his hands in a way that indicated a matter of grave importance was about to be discussed. 'As MasterHarper, I have certain duties and responsibilities towards those in my Hall.' Petiron nodded, and Gennell went on. 'I have assigned Merelan to Benden Hold for the next year.'
'But you can't--' Petiron half rose from the chair in surprised indignation.
'I can and I have,' Gennell said in such a flat tone that Petiron sank back again. 'Oh, I know you are already composing new arias which only she has the voice to sing, but I think you've been overworking her -' and Gennell held up one finger '– and have been totally ignoring your son.'
'My son ... I need to discuss my son with you, Gennell. He has written--'
Gennell held up a second finger. 'You are apparently the only one in the entire Hall who is unaware of Robinton's genius.' 'Genius? A few simple tunes ...'
'Petiron!' Gennell's voice echoed the impatience in his scowl.
'The boy reads music – even music you have written – and plays it on pipe or gitar without hesitation or error. He has made instruments that are good enough to have a Harper stamp.'
'That drum he made was not up to standard,' Petiron began.
'At that, his first drum was nearly good enough. The others he has made in the past few months have already been sold. So have the multiple pipes and his first flute--'
'The pipes are in his room ...'
'He is already considered an apprentice by the rest of the Hall's Masters, MasterComposer Petiron,' Gennell said. 'We are careful to take him only at his own pace – and his progress has him ahead of most second-year apprentices.'
Petiron's mouth dropped. 'But he's my son ...'
'A fact that you only seem to have recognized very recently,' Gennell said in much the tone he would take with an erring journeyman.
Then his expression softened. 'You are the best composer we have had in the Hall in over two hundred years, Petiron, and you are honoured as such. It is your single-mindedness which can produce such extravagant and complex music, but it has also given you less than perfect vision about other, equally important matters: such as your son and your spouse. Therefore, since I had a request from Benden Hold for a Master in the Vocal Traditions, I have assigned Merelan to the post. At her request. As the Benden Lord Holder has children Robinton's age, he will accompany his mother.'
Petiron rose indignantly. 'I'm his father – have I no say in this?'
'Until a boy child is twelve, it is traditional for him to be in his mother's care unless fostered to a family.'
'This has all been conducted with precipitous and unnecessary haste,' Petiron began, clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to control the rage that was boiling up inside him. Not only were his paternal rights being denied, but why was his spouse, usually so understanding, suddenly rejecting him?
'On the contrary, Master Petiron,' Gennell replied, shaking his head slowly and sadly, 'the decision was neither an easy nor an abrupt one.'
'But ... she was there!' Petiron waved a shaking hand towards his own quarters on the level above. 'She cannot have gone far...'
'A Benden dragon arrived this morning with a further entreaty from Lord Maidir for her to accept the posting, especially as his contracted harper, Evarel, has been advised to rest by the healer.
She took the message up to your quarters to discuss it with you. I admit to being surprised that she returned and accepted it. She told me that she felt it was in both her interests and Robinton's that she do so.'
'Because I didn't know my son's age?' Petiron heard his voice rise to tenor range in surprise.
Gennell blinked in such an honest reaction that Petiron had to accept that that subject had not come up. Still, Merelan's acceptance of any posting away from him, away from the Hall, was so uncharacteristic of her that he could think of no reason at all beyond that rather trite one.
'About that I do not know, Petiron, but she and the boy will already have reached Benden Hold. She asked Betfice to pack up what she and Robinton will need. Doubtless you will hear from her shortly with a private letter.' Petiron stared at his MasterHarper, having great difficulty absorbing what he had just heard.
'If it is a mother's right to have her child until he is twelve, then I shall not interfere with her maternal instincts,' he said so harshly that Gennell flinched. 'At twelve I shall have him.' With that, both promise and threat, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the MasterHarper's workroom.
CHAPTER SIX
His mother never did explain to Robinton exactly why she came to his classroom that morning, to speak quietly and briefly to Kubisa, whose face gave away nothing. She just gave him his heavy jacket to put on, while she cleared the contents of his desk into a carisak, adding the roll of things which Kubisa handed her.
There was something about his mother's attitude that warned Robinton not to ask questions. The rest of the children in the classroom were whispering excitedly; two had even left their seats and were peering out of the window.
That was when Robinton saw the wing claws of a bronze dragon in the courtyard.
'I don't think you'll mind riding a dragon today, dear,' his mother said, as she carefully closed the classroom door behind her.
She had the half-full carisak clutched under her arm and took his hand to guide him down the steep steps.
'Ride a dragon?' He stumbled in surprise, and was glad of the tight hold she had on his hand.
'Yes, we're going to Benden Hold. Lord Maidir sent a dragon for us.'
'He sent a dragon for us?'
Robinton was floored. Yet there were Betrice and Masters Bosler and Washell handing up carisaks to the bronze rider, who was securing them to the dragon's harness. As his mother briskly rushed him across the courtyard to the dragon, he looked about for his father.
'Your father's not coming with us,' his mother said with an odd catch to her voice. Before he could protest, she had swung him off his feet and up to the bronze rider's waiting arms. Then she mounted and sat behind him.
I am Spakinth and my rider is C'rob. Cortath and Kilminth say do not fear us.
