But a harper had to be careful of admitting to anything at all improper -even in confidence to a friend.
'That's as may be, but he doesn't believe in Thread,' F'lon said in a flatly disapproving tone.
Since that would have caused F'lon to dislike anyone, male or female, Robinton declined to comment further on Cording's good points. And now he'd been given a lead-in to the problem he'd been dying to address.
'Is that the basis of your argument with Lord Maidir and Raid?' Robinton asked. After all, one of his duties as harper was to act as mediator whenever necessary. Not that he felt himself an expert, but he could at least try to understand the dispute from both sides.
'Of course.' F'lon actually ground his teeth. 'Neither of them will listen to S'loner or me. And it's not as if we were the only riders of that opinion. M'odon is adamant that we'll see Thread within the next three decades. And I've checked his figuring time and again. He might be out a Turn or two, but not by more than that.' He glanced about irritably, as if hoping to find something he could at least kick. A stone lay across his path, and he kicked that across the Bowl so that both of them heard it connect with the cliff and shatter. F'lon grunted at his success. Then, in one of his abrupt changes, he pointed to a table not far from the entrance to the Lower Caverns. 'Let's take that one before anyone else can settle.'
Robinton decided to wait for a more propitious opening to obtain further details. F'lon was not the most tactful of riders – nor, for that matter, was his father – but perhaps, in the aftermath of the Hatching, he could make some progress in healing the breach.
Most of the invited guests were still on their feet, wineglasses or klah mugs in their hands, while the aromas of the upcoming feast wafted in tantalizing waves from the busy kitchen. In the distance, by the weyrling barracks, Robinton caught sight of the newly Impressed riders feeding their dragonets, who raised squeaky but imperious voices protesting the slowness of the service. Once sufficiently full, the dragonets would be bedded down, and then the new riders would join their parents for the festivities, elated with pride at their success. Robinton had noted that a Benden holder lad had Impressed a bronze – a talking point with Maidir. There was such an air of rejoicing, of gladness, of accomplishment, that Robinton had trouble restraining himself from grabbing up his gitar and making appropriate triumphant music. His turn would come soon enough, and meanwhile here was C'gan, his oddly boyish face smiling, making his way towards them carrying a tray of glasses, a skin of wine looped over his shoulder.
F'lon waved for C'gan to hurry. Robinton had had a chance on his arrival to quiz C'gan on how many musicians he would have
to supply music, and what special songs might be requested. He had brought some new songs, as well: three of his own and four from the Harper Hall. He had learned that he didn't need to tell anyone who had composed them. If the songs were good, they were sung again and again, and those that failed to catch on he could simply forget. There were few of his in the latter category. A march from Petiron's pen was included in those from the Hall, and Robinton deemed it a new departure for the MasterComposer: rhythmic and solemn, but stirring.
Eventually those at the head table took their places, a signal for the weyrfolk to serve their guests, green riders helping to cater to the extra numbers. Bronze and brown riders were not required to serve guests, so R'gul, S'lel, L'tol and R'yar – the lad who had been Searched from his first apprentice turn at the Harper Hall -joined Robinton's table.
Robinton was close enough to the head table to get his first good look at the young new Weyrwoman. She was not at all as attractive or sensual as Caroh had been. But that was not relevant – no matter what her looks or personality were like, S'loner's bronze had to fly her queen to keep him in the Weyrleader's position. From the scowl on S'loner's face, he wasn't too pleased with his new Weyrwoman. He was, in fact, leaning away from her, idly robbing his left shoulder and arm, and not directing much conversation in Jora's direction. She was pretty enough, in a sort of overblown way, but was already getting more plump than was healthy for a rider, not to mention for a young woman. She was flushed with the success of her queen, Nemorth, and making what appeared to be giddy confessions to Lady Hayara, who merely listened with a polite smile plastered on her face. Lord Maidir exchanged a few comments with S'loner, but for the most part concentrated on the excellent food served and the fine Benden wines.
Robinton considered that wine one of the fringe benefits of being a Benden-based harper: they had the best vineyards on the continent, and the main Vintners' Hall was in the next valley over from the Hold itself. The whites were crisp and light, sometimes with a citrus tang, sometimes an almost floral taste. He had been used to the foxy sauternes of Tillek, the other large wine-producing Hold, and the variety produced by Benden fascinated him. The reds, especially the clarets and the burgundies, were full and wonderful to hold in the nose and savour through the mouth.
Robinton had discovered that he could drink the whites all night long and generally rise up from his bed the next morning without a heavy head or sick stomach, but he had to be careful with the reds.
And he dreamed of tasting the sparkling wine that once had been produced at Benden. MasterVintner Wonegal was still trying to reproduce it, but the vine blight of two hundred turns before had wiped out that varietal, and cross-pollinating of the better white grapes had not yet produced an adequate replacement.
The feast was superb. There was roast herd-beast, flavourful with herbs and done to pink, though there were crusty top slices available for those who liked it well done. Wild wherry in quantity, and so tenderized as to slide down the throat with its accompanying stickle-berry gravy. There were also a variety of fish, grilled and baked, with enormous bowls of tubers and vine beans; breads, both flat and raised; and fresh greens which had been grown in tropical Nerat. Fruits, too, and nuts from Lemos. Though most of the candidates had been weyrbred, some had come from nearby Holds, and their families had probably brought offerings. Only two lads had been injured – slightly – when the dragonets lurched out of their shells and looked around, keening, for their mind mates.
And a bronze had hatched first.
'The best omen we could have,' F'lon remarked.
'Why is that?' Robinton asked.
'Bronze is the best, of course,' F'lon said with a slightly drunken grin on his face. 'A bronze first means the clutch is strong, even if not as large as some would have made it. Jora's useless as a Weyrwoman.' His tone turned disdainful. 'Not only is she afraid of heights but she's nervous with Nemorth, and if S'loner hadn't been helping, she'd've let the queen eat before her mating flight.' He snorted in contempt.
'That wouldn't have kept you from edging S'loner out, though,' R'gul said, a disapproving frown on his round face.
'Tchaaa!' F'lon waved aside the rebuke. 'So he sired me, but bronze riders are all equal in the air at mating time. The queen should have the best available – more to make up for her shortcomings than anything else.' And he made another contemptuous noise and unslung the wine-skin from the chair back. 'So, Harper Robinton, with what songs will you regale us tonight?' He waved towards the top table. 'Everyone's eaten, and let's not have another brawl between our Weyrleader and our Lord Holder.'
Robinton got to his feet, his height making him visible to the head table, and he waited until he could catch S'loner's attention.
The Weyrleader had bent his head to listen to something one of the weyr girls was saying: a girl Robinton had noticed himself because of her quiet dignity and gracefulness. S'loner shook his head, and then the girl pointed towards Robinton. Spotting the harper, S'loner raised his right hand to give him the signal to begin the entertainment.
C'gan had been watching too, and he stood, which told the players to gather on the dais.
'I've a few new ones for your ears,' Robinton told F'lon, 'and a fine march. Enter-the-new-riders sort of thing.'
'Great!' F'lon waved a loose arm in command for the music to begin. He was fairly well gone in wine, so Robinton did not take offence.
Looking closely at the head table as he made his way to the players' raised dais, Robinton did not see any signs of an imminent dispute between Leader and Holder. But the two were looking away from each other and neither was talking. It was indeed time for diversion before the silence became unbearable. Jora was still talking to Lady Hayara, who was all but slumped down in her chair with boredom. Now, seeing the harper gathering his instrumental-ists, Hayara sat up straighter and waggled her fingers at him -doubtless from gratitude, unless Jora would talk through music too.
But then Lady Hayara would have a legitimate excuse to request her silence.
Robinton started off with Petiron's march; it had a few feet stamping and some clapping in rhythm, so he was subtly amused that his opinion was now verified. Then he called for the Duty Song, followed closely by the Question
