an eager expression to the boy's face.
'Silvina, meet Sebell, grandson of Rantou, and by way of being a relative of mine from my mother's hold,' Robinton said.
Having settled the tray on the long table, Silvina held out her hand to Sebell, who jumped to his feet and gave her a shy bow before accepting her clasp.
'A new apprentice?' she asked, smiling kindly.
'And a new treble for Shonagar to train. Pipes well, too,' Robinton said with pride. He couldn't resist ruffling the lad's hair in his pleasure at his coming. 'I met Rantou when I was much younger than Sebell ...'
'You are related to MasterSinger Merelan?' Silvina asked as she poured klah and passed around the sweetener.
'We were very proud of her, we were, Silvina,' Rantou replied proudly.
'We all were,' Silvina said and her warm smile included the newest recruit to the Harper Hall, who grinned shyly back at her as she passed him the plate of cakes.
Sebell settled in, a quiet lad but endlessly curious about things musical. He kept appearing to ask if Robinton needed anything, until everyone took it for granted that he was Robinton's shadow.
Sebell also began to play with Camo, trying to get him to hold a drumstick and use it properly on the little drum Robinton had made for him. Seeing the two together caused Robinton some heartache, but he could no more ask Sebell to leave his son alone than be could ignore Sebell's deft and discreet services.
'The lad's so kind to Camo,' Silvina remarked one evening to him. 'He's not like the other apprentices, helter- skelter and rough, and he seems so genuinely fond of Camo' She broke off and regarded Robinton closely. 'You know, you've a true son of your heart in Sebell, Rob. In fact,' she added, cocking her head, 'Sebell's not the only apprentice who adores you, Rob. Don't hesitate to give them the love which Camo cannot return. They deserve it, each in their own way, so you're taking nothing from Camo.'
'I wish I could give the child something,' Robinton said wistfully.
'Oh, you do. He always smiles when he hears your voice.'
On reflection he realized that Silvina's remark about concentrating on his many 'sons' was sound advice. So he stopped yearning for what Camo could never do and, as his mother did, accepted the boy's cheerful smile and praised him for what progress he made: learning to walk, learning to feed himself, learning to do simple tasks. Sebell, as often as not, helping him.
Robinton had occasional visits from F'lon, especially after Nemorth deposited a very good clutch on the Hatching Ground sands. Not triple her last clutch, but a respectable twenty-four.
Sometimes when he asked for conveyance a-dragonback, F'lon would send the Weyrsinger, C'gan, but Robinton was just as glad to see the young-faced Weyrsinger. C'gan's infallible good nature was a tonic in itself. In fact, it was C'gan who came to collect the MasterHarper for his first official attendance at a Benden Weyr Hatching. Such an event happened all too infrequently. Harper Records spoke of many more in former times – before the five Weyrs disappeared.
'The older lad's well grown but, frankly, I think Manora's son's a bit young,' C'gan informed the MasterHarper as they hurried to blue Tagath, waiting impatiently in the courtyard. The blue rider had given the MasterHarper only moments to change into appropriate finery, and now he half-boosted him to Tagath's back. 'But F'lon was not going to risk not having both sons dragonriders. No, he wasn't. And it's true we don't have as many clutches. Nor as many eggs in 'em as we should do. That Nemorth's too fat to fly.
Up you go!'
'Good day, Tagath,' Robinton said, stroking the blue shoulder as he settled himself between neck ridges. He tried to find the best place for his gitar and ended up cradling it in his arms behind C'gan.
Tagath turned his head round to look at Robinton. Hatching is always a good day, Harper.
'He answered me!' Robinton said, delighted. He grinned at C'gan.
'Ah, he's not much of a talker, is Tagath. Even to me. I think you surprised him, Harper. Does him good.'
Robinton felt his neck snap, and his nose connected with the tuning knobs of the gitar as Tagath made a mighty leap skyward. The power in those blue haunches was formidable. Robinton had time to finger his nose and establish that it wasn't bleeding before he heard C'gan give the command to go between.
Then they were hanging above Benden Weyr and Robinton caught his breath. The Bowl was alive with people streaming into the Hatching Ground and dragons weaving up to and disappearing down the upper tunnel to where they could watch Impression.
Dragon eyes gleamed with the brightest of blues and greens, flashed with the yellows of excitement.
Tagath landed neatly quite close to the entrance to the Hatching Ground, deftly avoiding two groups of holders running in. A hum warned both Harper and dragonrider that the event was almost upon them.
Robinton slid down the blue's side, thanking him and C'gan, then joined those streaming in.
'Over here, Rob!' F'lon roared, vigorously beckoning the Harper to join him on the raised section of the Ground where Nemorth was hunched. 'I've been waiting for you!' Robinton could not fail to notice Jora on the other side of her queen, a large bulk in a vivid green gown which did nothing to hide her obesity or enhance what had once been a pretty face. He bowed ceremoniously to her and then to Nemorth, whose attention was on the small clutch of eggs in the centre of the hot Hatching Sands.
Jora gave him a nervous grin, her fat fingers making wet creases in the stuff of her gown. He always tried to be nice to her, knowing that F'lon gave her a difficult time.
'I was beginning to think you might not be at the Hall,' F'lon said, grabbing Robinton by the hand and shaking it so hard that Robinton exclaimed.
'I'll need it to play for you, F'lon,' he said, pulling back his hand and making a show of examining it for injury.
'Yes, yes, of course, and you'll make a song for my sons' Impression?'
Robinton did not laugh at the proud and eager father. F'lon's emotions were so obvious: he was torn between the certainty that both his sons must Impress and the fear that neither would.
'Point them out to me, will you?' Rob asked. 'Lads grow so fast at this time of their lives ...'
'The two there to the left ... See? In white of course, but Fallamon has my hair. And Famanoran resembles his mother. You remember Manora? The one who kept her head the night S'loner died?'
'They also resemble each other,' Robinton remarked, having identified the two by that more than by F'lon's excited description.
'Well-grown lads.'
'Fallamon's the taller,' F'lon added nervously.
'Relax, F'lon,' Robinton said. 'They'll Impress.'
'Are you sure?' F'lon's query was anxious.
'You're asking me?'
'Yes, I'm asking you.'
He really is asking you, Simanith's voice echoed in Robinton's ears.
'Of course they will. How could they not, F'lon? Relax. Enjoy this moment.'
F'lon rubbed hands nearly as nervous as Jora's. She kept peeking around her dragon's neck and she certainly looked agitated.
Robinton felt more sympathy for the poor woman.
'Simanith says they will,' Robinton added mendaciously, glancing up at the bronze who was crouched on the ledge above his queen. Simanith blinked.
'He would know, wouldn't he?' F'lon said and, at the first sharp cracking sound, took hold of Robinton's arm in a vice-like grip.
Robinton tried not to wince, highly amused by the spectacle of the usually supremely confident, proud and aggressive Weyrleader in such a state.
'It's a bronze!' F'lon cried, his hands tightening perceptibly on Robinton's forearm.
'I'll need this to play,' Robinton said again, peeling the drug-onrider's fingers free.
'A bronze first is a good sign,' F'lon told him urgently. 'There're only nine of them, you know.'
'Easy!'
The little bronze shattered its shell with a second decisive blow of its nose.
'Oh, well done!' F'lon cried. 'Do you see that, Robinton?'
