'But he was certain he'd be here to greet you,' Gennell went on, 'so we didn't drum a message to delay your return until he was back.' The MasterHarper looked towards the open Hall door as if he expected Petiron to be riding in at any moment. 'It's not that long a journey, and I saw that the harpers were all well mounted.
Their Autumn Gather, and they'd particularly requested something special from us.'
'Halanna went?' Merelan asked in a bland voice.
'Yes, and Londik, though I'd say,' Gennell added with a frown, 'his voice is about to change.'
'That won't matter now,' she said almost casually, and looked down at her son. 'Robie can take over the treble solos. He did all that were needed at Benden, both Hold and Weyr, and it's not just as his mother that I'm proud of him.'
'No, of course not. And did you like visiting the Weyr, Rob?' Master Gennell smiled kindly down at him.
'It was fabulous,' Robinton said. He was quite willing to describe everything: he couldn't remember if Master Gennell had been to the Weyr. 'Isn't it?'
'Yes, a very special place indeed.' Gennell gave Rob a pat on his head and then turned to Merelan. 'So, tell me more about our new soprano, Lord Maidir's girl.'
'She's a well-behaved young lady,' Merelan said, chuckling as Master Gennell's obvious apprehension eased. 'I'd scarcely inflict the Hall with another ...' She cleared her throat and suggested that Robie might like to finish his drink with his friends.
Robinton went off, grinning to himself because he knew what she'd been about to say.
His father did not arrive back at the Hall until the autumn day had nearly ended. Two of the journeymen with him were leading runner-beasts, one of which was very definitely lame.
'Runner-beasts went lame, Mother,' Robinton said from his perch at the front window. 'Not Father's, though,' he added as she hurried in from her bedroom to peer over his shoulder. 'See. There he is!' And he pointed to his father's unmistakable tall, lean figure, dismounting from a Ruathan bay gelding.
He couldn't understand his mother's reaction. She'd worried about Petiron not being there, and now she didn't seem to care that he was safely home.
'It wouldn't be like Father to hurry on ahead unless everything was all right,' he said.
'Sometimes, Robie,' she told him, putting her hand under his chin and tipping his face up, 'you're too forgiving.'
He didn't feel so forgiving when it seemed to take an age for his father to greet his family.
'Trouble on the way, Petiron?' his mother asked, turning from the window and the brilliant sunset.
'Two lame runner-beasts, because they thought to get home faster,' he said, swinging saddlebags and instrument case to the bench. 'You had the safer way to travel.' He came over to her and
gave her a peck on her cheek. 'Londik's voice is gone.'
'I can sing instead, then,' Robinton piped up.
His father, almost as if just realizing his son was in the room too, frowned slightly. 'That's as it may be. But it is way past your bedtime, Robinton, and your mother and I have a lot to discuss. Good night.'
'And you've no more welcome than that for your son, Petiron?' Merelan asked in such a tense voice that Robie was startled.
'It's all right, Mother. Good night, Father,' he said and left, almost running out of the room in his dismay.
'Petiron, how could you?'
Robie shut the door on whatever reply his father made, glad that
he couldn't hear anything through the thick wooden panels. He flung himself on his bed and wished he was back at Benden Hold.
Even Lord Maidir was nicer to him than his father was. Why couldn't he please his own father? What had he done wrong?
Why couldn't he do something right? He probably shouldn't have said that he could take Londik's place. But he could. He knew he could. His mother had said that his voice was every bit as good as Londik's, and he was the better musician. And she didn't just say things like that to make you feel good – not about professional matters.
He muffled the sobs he could not control in his pillow. And when he heard some shouting later, he pulled the pillow over his head and pushed it tight against his ears so that he couldn't hear anything except his own pulse.
He had to audition for the position of solo treble singer in front of all the Masters, which made him a little nervous. The requirement had made his mother furious.
'Are you doubting my professional opinion, Petiron?' she asked when she heard what was proposed. All the windows were open, making it impossible for Robinton to avoid hearing.
'Any singer who is to be a soloist for the Harper Hall has to be auditioned,' his father had answered.
'Only if he hasn't been heard by all the Masters before,' Merelan had said, tight-voiced.
'I do not wish anyone to think that I am pushing my son into a place that another also qualifies for.'
'There is no other treble as qualified! And everyone but you knows very well that Robinton has a splendid treble.'
'Then there is no problem in following protocol, is there?'
'Protocol! Protocol? For your own son?'
'Of course. For him more than any other. Surely you can see that, MerelanT
'I wish, Petiron, I do sincerely wish that I could.'
Robie had flinched when he heard the outer door slam. He felt his throat tighten, and then reminded himself sternly that he had no time for that right now. He was harper-trained and he'd prove -especially to his father – that he was well trained.
Because he was, of course, facing his auditors, he caught the little reassuring gestures they made, and his mother's encouraging expression as she played the introduction to the music they had decided he should present first. He was to sing two songs, showing off his abilities, an optional piece and then a score he had not seen before.
'That,' his mother had said in an odd voice, 'is going to be very difficult because he knows all the music.'
'There will be one he doesn't know,' his father had said, giving his head the one final nod which indicated this subject was closed.
So he sang the Question Song, and that made all the Masters sit up, including his father. But the song suited his range and showed good phrasing as well as voice control, as he let the final note die away without breaking it off.
'Odd choice,' was his father's comment after the warm applause had died. Petiron handed him a double sheet. 'This would have been Londik's next solo. Not even he has seen it. You may have a few minutes to look through it.' He held out his hand to take Merelan's gitar from her and sat on the stool, prepared to accompany his son himself.
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Robinton turned his eyes down to his father's bold notations. But by the time he had to turn the page, he felt a surge of relief. If his father thought this would show up his unsuitability, he might even get a pleasant surprise.
'I'm ready,' Robie said, turning the music back to the first page.
'You should take more time than that,' his father told him.
'I've read it through, Father,' Robinton replied. His father didn't know how quickly he memorized music, even the complex tempo Petiron liked to use and the odd intervals he was fond of putting in: 'To jar the audience awake,' one of the journeymen had said in Robie's hearing.
'Let's not make the lad nervous, Petiron,' Master Gennell said. 'If he says he's ready, we'll have to take him at his word.'
'I'll play the first measure, then go back to the top,' Petiron said, as if conferring a special favour.
Robinton saw his mother's warning finger go up, so he said nothing. But he was spot perfect coming in at the top. He didn't need to, but he kept the score in front of his eyes, not wanting to look in his father's direction. He had no trouble singing the unusual intervals, or keeping an accurate tempo, even when it changed almost every other measure. There was one run, which would have suited Londik's flexible voice too, and a trill which Rob had no trouble with either, his mother having used him to show Maizella how to deal with that sort of vocal embellishment.
