only way you could.' Even as he spoke to Robinton, Shonagar's grin widened at the surprise and shock which had hushed the hall.
Robinton was still trying to assimilate what he'd just heard – his name announced as journeyman – when Shonagar plunged a hand under his arm and, with a heave, got Robinton to his feet. 'Wallet Walk, Robinton!' With that, Shonagar turned him and started propelling him to the journeymen's table. 'Walk, Robinton, walk.'
'And none too soon,' Master Washell shouted, jumping to his feet and smacking his big hands together over his head, urging people to join him. Bosler stood, clapping in rhythm with the reluctant journeyman's stride. Betrice was up, as were the other Masters at the table, Ogolly and Severeid, and the kitchen workers crowded in at the serving doors, adding their noise to the general furore. The only two not on their feet were Robinton's parents: his mother was weeping, and his father seemed to be too stunned and stony-faced to move. Robinton knew then, as Shonagar had told him, that he had got back at his father in the only decent way he could – by success.
'Walk, Robinton, walk.'
Unashamed of the tears streaming down his face and swallowing the lump in his throat, Robinton walked the tables, bearing himself as proudly as he could despite the tendency of his knees to wobble.
Still steering him, Shonagar pushed him past the head table.
Through her tears his mother shot him an exultant look and a weak smile before she had to wipe her cheeks again. Neither of them looked at Petiron.
Installed in the final chair, Robinton was still shaking so badly that he could barely accept the congratulations of the other new journeymen. He noticed that they all had rank knots on their shoulders, and then he felt Shonagar slip one up his arm and to his shoulder.
'Journeyman Robinton will go to Master Lobira at High Reaches, where it's hoped this sensible fellow will keep Master Lobira out of more trouble,' Gennell announced, and then called for glasses and wine for the new journeymen. Sometime in that interval Petiron slipped from the room, but Merelan did not. And that was as it should be, Robinton thought.
CHAPTER NINE
And so Robinton headed off to his first official assignment with five full packs, even though he had stored some childish mementoes in the Hall's vast cellars. His mother insisted that he drum a request to F'lon.
'It won't hurt your reputation at all for you to arrive on drug-onback,' she said firmly.
'It's showing off, Mother,' he insisted.
'Others have requested conveyance,' she went on, helping him pack up everything in his little room.
Whenever he returned to the Hall, he would bunk in the journeymen's quarters. He hadn't so much as laid eyes on Petiron since the night before, but that didn't surprise him. He was now separated from his father, both as parent and teacher. His relief was intense, his concern for his mother immense. She seemed so frail, and her hands trembled slightly as she wrapped his pipes and put them in one of the packs. Well, this parting was hard on them both.
'You'd need three pack animals to carry all this junk,' she said, sniffing. But she gave him a big smile when he bent to see if she was crying. 'Oh, I shall miss you, my dear son.' She put both hands on his arms and looked up at him with misted eyes. 'I shall miss you most frightfully, but I am also so very glad that you've been promoted out of your father's way.' 'What – I mean, did he say ... anything?'
'No.' She gave a little laugh, turning back to stuff the last few things away. 'He hasn't even spoken to me. And that's a sign of his total rejection of your making journeyman.' She shrugged. 'He'll get over it, though I don't think he'll ever forgive Gennell for doing it while he was out of the Hall.'
'Shards! I hadn't thought of that!' Robinton cringed at the thought of Master Gennell plagued by his father's dislike.
'Now, now, Robie, Gennell's well able to cope with your father's foibles. As I am. He'll simmer a while, and then go on and write it out in more music for me to sing.'
Robinton clutched his mother's arm and made her look up at him. 'You will be careful, won't you, Mother? And not give too much to his music?'
She patted his cheek lovingly. I'll be good, and rest. How can I not? With Ginia, Betrice and Lorra all at me – and your father. I didn't mean to scare him, but I think I have. He'll be much more careful of me now. He does love me, you know, most possessively.
That's what all this has been about.'
Robinton nodded and then embraced his mother, feeling her thin bones and trying not to use his young strength to bruise her. But he wanted to hold her as tightly as possible, for he was fearful he might never see her again.
'Oh, Robie,' she said teasingly. 'I'm much better. Don't fret. You know things will be easier ... now ...' she added apologetically. 'I shall write or drum if I don't hear from you, young man. You hear me?'
'Indeed I do, MasterSinger. They've quite a good network of runners at High Reaches.'
'They'd have to,' she said with a patronizing sniff. 'Living back of beyond like that.'
The unmistakable trumpeting of a dragon reverberated through the courtyard. 'I believe your transport has arrived,' she said, smiling, though her chin seemed to quiver.
He hurried to load up his packs, but was interrupted by the appearance of Masters Gennell, Washell and Ogolly. They immediately pushed him out of the way and shared the packs among them, allowing him only the new harp case.
'I'm honoured – I mean, you don't need to ...' Robinton tried to protest, but he was overruled. Shrugging, he allowed them the duty.
Master Gennell winked at him as they walked out into the hall, and Robinton realized that this display of solid goodwill was as much for his mother's benefit as to make up for his father's absence. Their kindness touched him once again, and he had to swallow back tears.
'You made it, huh?' F'lon shouted as he slid down to Simanith's raised forearm and started piling luggage on the harness.
'Congratulations, Journeyman Robinton! You've got greetings from all your old friends at Benden, Weyr and Hold.' To the other new journeymen waiting in the courtyard for their conveyancing, he said, 'Your dragons will be along shortly – and congratulations.'
Loading took only moments and then Robinton had to make his farewells. His mother pulled his head down for one last kiss and embrace. He shook hands with the Masters and promised them that he'd do his best.
'Give my special regards to Master Lobira,' his mother called as he climbed up to Simanith's back. 'He may remember me.'
'Now who can forget you, Merelan?' Master Gennell said, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders.
That was how Robinton remembered his mother in the trying initial days under Master Lobira's supervision. Fortunately, F'lon deposited him and his effects in the courtyard of the high and windy Hold and departed, seen by relatively few. And especially not Master Lobira.
For that person was unimpressed with having so young a journeyman.
'Don't know what Gennell's thinking about, walking you up at fifteen! Indeed, I don't, so don't go expecting any cosseting from me, young man.' Lobira eyed Robinton and scowled at the lean length of him.
It didn't help, Robinton thought, that he towered above the diminutive MasterHarper. The man came not quite to Robinton's shoulder; he was heavy in the chest – he sang bass – and narrowed through the hips to short, skinny legs. His features were pulled together in the middle of his wide face as if they should have inhabited a much narrower one. He had a shock of heavy wavy hair with bands of silver, making him look striped. All put together, he was an almost ludicrous figure. But no one snickered at Master Lobira. He had too much presence, Robinton quickly decided, ever to be the butt of ridicule. His muddy brown eyes were shrewd, and there was no way that Robinton was going to underestimate him.
'I never expected to walk so soon,' Robinton murmured, trying to be self-effacing.
Lobira gave him a quick look, as if he thought Robinton was dissembling. 'I shall expect much from you then, young man. Where were you raised? Who are your parents?'
Robinton was quite happy to answer since he hoped that would mollify his new Master. But if his mother met with Lobira's approval, his father did not. Robinton was at first shocked – less at the blunt remarks about his father's sort of composing, which Lobira felt was far too sophisticated to be of any use to anyone, than at hearing such criticism voiced, especially in front of the man's son. Not that it didn't mirror his own very private assessment
