meeting was over.
For once robbed of words, Robinton scooped the two items off the table and, pivoting on one heel, strode out of the office, wanting very much to slam the door behind him.
Without a word to anyone, as much because he was embarrassed and furious about his dismissal, he went up to his rooms and packed his things. He had to visit the schoolroom, where Maizella was rehearsing the secondary children; she must have known about his dismissal, because she only glanced up to see who was entering the room, then averted her eyes, saying nothing to him, continuing to listen to the recitations. He collected all his music and notes; and though he smiled at his former pupils, he said nothing.
Better to leave it at that, he thought, as he ran up the Tower steps three at a time. He was breathless at the top, but he had also worked off some of the frustration and anger he felt at such an unfair dismissal. Raid was just too inexperienced to realize how he offended his holders, or that a harper could be a good resource for management.
Hayon was on watch and smiled as Robinton entered. But whatever he was about to say by way of greeting died before he could sound it.
'I'm allowed to send a message,' Robinton said, unable to keep the edge out of his voice. He picked up the sticks and rattled out a terse request for conveyance. Hayon's eyes widened and he looked about to speak again, but held his peace.
It was awkward, waiting there for a response from the Weyr, but Robinton was not in a mood to placate anyone and Hayon was sensitive enough to feel it. The journeyman sank back down on the stool and waited, sipping at his klah during the interminable time it took for the distant drums to sound. A dragon would be there presently.
'All right, what's wrong, Rob?' Hayon asked finally.
'Your brother does not find me a suitable harper.'
Hayon regarded him steadily. 'My half-brother,' he said with a deliberate emphasis on the degree of the relationship, 'sometimes does not use the wits he was born with. If he was. Does he know all that you do to calm down the experienced holders he keeps insulting?'
'That is precisely why I am to leave, Hayon. Tell Lady Hayara I'm sorry to go ...
'She'll really miss you,' Hayon said staunchly.
'I certainly don't envy her. Nor you.'
Hayon gave a little smile. 'I'll survive. At least, I've always known that I would have to.'
'There's that,' Robinton said and extended his hand, which Hayon clasped heartily in both of his.
'Tell you one thing, Maizella's going to miss you at her espousal.'
'I think not,' Robinton said, but he smiled without rancour. 'Here comes your dragon. Oh, and if it's F'lon, warn him that my brother's raging over him paying so much attention to Naprila.'
'Oh?' Robinton had missed that. No, Lord Raid would not want his half-sister seeing too much of a dragonrider, though he rather thought that Lord Maidir would have been receptive. Maidir had known that life in a Weyr could be preferable to working a hold.
When Hayon rose to escort Robinton down the stairs, the journeyman shook his head. 'Let's not give Raid any cause for complaint about my departure. I want out as quietly and inconspicuously as possible.'
Hayon chuckled. 'You will have to work hard to be inconspicuous, Rob. I shall miss you badly.'
With a final nod of thanks, Robinton started down, collected his carisaks from his room and made his way down the main stairs and out of the door without seeing anyone.
F'lon and Simanith had come for him. Robinton did see Raid at the office window, watching him sling his things up to F'lon to arrange on Simanith's back. Then, with a good leap of his long legs, he made it to Simanith's cocked forearm and grabbed F'lon's gloved hand to help him the rest of the way.
'Sacked you, did he?' said F'lon, grinning and tossing an airy wave in the direction of the office window.
'Did you know he would?' Robinton asked, wondering how he had missed the change in Raid's attitude.
'I hoped he would. You can do better elsewhere.'
'Benden's a good Hold,' Robinton protested out of loyalty and truth.
'Under Maidir, yes. Raid's going to have to learn some tact.' 'You heard talk about that?'
F'lon gave a shrug. 'Hang on.' And Simanith gave the head-snapping leap skyward.
Robinton did feel a lump in his throat at leaving Benden Hold. He had been happy there as a child, and so proud to have been asked to come back as a journeyman for Maidir. Really, he had done his best as he had been taught. Where had he gone wrong?
'Nowhere, as I interpret the matter,' Master Gennell said when Robinton had his interview. 'Young Lord Raid has a lot to learn about handling his people.' The MasterHarper sat with steepled fingers and a sympathetic expression on his face. 'He will, though. He had good training. And the results of his current practices will show him the error of his ways.'
'Really?' Robinton gave a snort of disbelief.
'Oh, I think so.' Then Master Gennell grinned. 'Actually I can use your talents in at least six other positions. You may choose.'
That was how Robinton came to spend the next two turns at Tillek Hold. And found the first love of his life. The only two drawbacks to the posting would be the awful weather which never seemed to include many sunny days, and the very sharp, foxy white wine the slopes of Tillek hills produced. He would also start the extra study for his Mastery, which included Applications of the Charter and the Precepts of Arbitration and Mediation, advanced aspects of Harper Hall's purview. The Tillek Hold MasterHarper, Minnarden, had agreed to undertake his tuition, since Minnarden attended the Hold's court sessions. Robinton was looking forward to working under Minnarden, and his mother thought well of this Master.
'Solid man for basics, and a kind person too,' she'd said. 'You'll have no trouble with him.' She'd added one of her mischievous smiles, slanting her gaze up at her tall son. 'He dandled you on his knee at one point.' She laughed as Robinton grimaced. 'Don't worry, love. He won't embarrass you by remembering.'
Robinton certainly hoped not. He didn't think such a reminiscence would be good for his authority over a class.
He and young Groghe, Grogellan's third son, made the trip on runner-back: some of the good Ruathan stock which were so popular, plus a pack-beast for their supplies and effects. Groghe was going to spend a Turn in Tillek Hold, stewarding for Lord Melongel. Lord Holders often rotated their sons in hold management, or fostered them outright from time to time.
Groghe was Rob's age, an energetic young man who resembled his mother, Lady Winalla, more than his father. He made the arduous trip pleasant for, despite a tendency to make all the decisions about camping and hunting and duties, he was a sturdy traveller and a good companion. His taste in songs leaned to the bawdy but Robinton didn't mind obliging him in the evenings, especially when they sheltered overnight in one of the all-male holds – miners, herders and foresters – on their way. For the simpler melodies, Groghe sometimes accompanied him on a pipe.
On the way, Groghe had a small errand to do for his father. One of Lord Grogellan's high mountain holders was having trouble with a neighbour who was on Tillek Hold lands, not Fort. Groghe was to see what he could do to solve a problem which had now existed for several turns.
'I'm fed up with his complaints, both written and at Gathers,' Lord Grogellan had said. 'I've sent messages to Melongel, who's equally disgusted with the case. With Journeyman Robinton along, you should be able to solve the problem. A matter of a mutual wall, I understand. Making a mountain out of a very small pile of dirt.'
When they came down the side of the mountain, heading north, they saw the two cots, both substantial in size. The Fort man was a herder, the Tillek man a forester. The cots were separated by several dragons' lengths, and in plain sight was a collapsed stone wall, five or six lengths long, which separated field from forest.
Perhaps a storm had brought down a swathe of trees, smashing into the structure and damaging a long stretch. They could also see the shaggy coats of herd-beasts being driven from the forest, with angry shouts by the men doing the driving and furious cries from three men waiting on the field side. The drivers were not sparing of their clubs in getting the woolly beasts back on their own side of the wall.
'Fix that sharding wall, Sucho, or I'll kill the next ones that come into my plantation!'
The driver's bellowed threat carried easily to the two travellers.
'We would arrive in the middle of it,' Groghe said to Robinton with a grimace. 'Ah, well! It's to be done!'
