“We’re ready, sirs,” Robinton announced and, giving a curt bow of his head to the other riders, turned on his heel to follow N’ton.
“I’ve half a mind – ” the green rider began.
“Obviously,” Robinton cut in, his voice as cold as between and as menacing as Thread. “Brudegan, Tagetarl, ride with him. Sebell, Talmor, on the green.”
Robinton watched as Brudegan, with no expression on his face, gestured politely to the shorter, green rider to precede them. Of all men on Pern, harpers feared few. Any one deliberately antagonizing them for no cause found himself the butt of a satirical tune which would be played around the land.
There were no further protests. And Robinton was rather pleased to notice that N’ton gave no indication that there’d been any display of ill nature.
Robinton on N’ton’s bronze arrived in the air, facing the cliff-palisade that was Telgar Hold. The swift river that had its source in the great striding eastern range of mountains had cut through the softer stone and made a deep incision that gradually widened until a series of high palisades flanked the green, wide Telgar valley. Telgar Hold was situated in one such soaring palisade, at the apex of a slightly triangular section of the cliffs. It faced south, with sides east and west and its hundred or so windows, on five distinct levels, must make pleasant and well lit rooms. All had the heavy bronze shutters which marked Telgar Hold for a wealthy one.
Today the three cliff faces of Telgar Hold were brilliant with the pennants of every minor Hold which had ever aligned its Blood with theirs. The Great Court was festooned with hundreds of flowering branches and giant fellis blooms, so that the air was heavy with mingled fragrances and appetizing kitchen odors. Guests must have been arriving for hours, to judge by the mass of long-legged runners among the pastured herdbeasts. Every room in old Telgar Hold ought to be filled this night and Robinton was glad that his rank gave him a sure place. A little crowded perhaps because he’d brought four more harpers. They might be superfluous; every Harper who could must have wangled his way in here today. Maybe it would be a happy occasion, after all.
I’ll concentrate on positive, happy thoughts, Robinton mused to himself, coining Fandarel’s phrase. “You’ll be staying on, N’ton?”
The young man grinned back at the Harper, but there was a serious shadow in his eyes. “Lioth and I have a sweep to ride, Master Robinton,” he said, leaning forward to slap his bronze affectionately on the neck. “But I did want to see Telgar Hold, so when Lord Asgenar asked me to oblige him by bringing you, I was glad of the chance.”
“I, too,” Robinton said in farewell, as he slid down the dragon’s shoulder. “My thanks to you, Lioth, for a smooth journey.”
The Harper has only to ask.
Startled, Robinton glanced up at N’ton, but the young man’s head was turned toward a party of brightly garbed young women who were walking up from the pasture.
Robinton looked at Lioth, whose opalescent eye gleamed at him an instant. Then the dragon spread his great wings. Hastily Robinton backed away, still not positive he’d heard the dragon. Yet there was no other explanation. Well, this day was certainly unfolding surprises!
“Sir?” inquired Brudegan respectfully.
“Ah, yes, lads.” He grinned at them. Talmor had never flown and the boy was a bit glassy in the eye. “Brudegan, you know the hall. Take them to the Harper’s room so they’ll know their way. And take my instrument, too. I’ll not need it until the banquet. Then, lads, you’re to mingle, play, talk, listen. You know the ditties I’ve been rehearsing. Use them.
You’ve heard the drum messages. Utilize them. Brudegan, take Sebell with you, it’s his first public performance. No, Sebell, you’d not be with us today if I’d no faith in your abilities. Talmor, watch that temper of yours. Tagetarl, wait until after the banquet to charm the girls. Remember, you’ll be a full Harper too soon to jeopardize a good Holding. All of you, mind the distilled wines.”
He left them so advised and went up the busy ramp into the Great Court, smiling and bowing to those he knew among the many Holders, Craftsmen and ladies passing to and fro.
Larad, Lord of Telgar Hold, resplendent in dark yellow, and the bridegroom Asgenar, Lord of Lemos, in a brilliant midnight blue, stood by the great metal doors to the Hold’s Main Hall. The women of Telgar were in white with the exception of Larad’s half-sister, Famira, the bride. Her blond hair streamed to the hem of her traditional wedding dress of graduated shades of red.
Robinton stood for a moment to one side of the gate into the Court, slightly in the shadow of the right-hand tower, scanning the guests already making small groups around the decorated Courtyard. He spotted the Masterherdsman, Sograny, near the stable. The man oughtn’t to look as if he smelled something distasteful. Probably not the vicinity, but his neighbors. Sograny disapproved of wasting time. Masterweaver Zurg and his nimble wife moved constantly from group to group. Robinton wondered if they were inspecting fabric and fit. Hard to tell, for Weaver Zurg and spouse nodded and beamed at everyone with good-natured impartiality.
Masterminer Nigot was deep in talk with Mastertanner Belesden and the Masterfarmer Andemon, while their women formed a close conversation knot to one side. Lord Corman of Keroon was apparently lecturing the nine young men ringing him: sons, foster and blood undoubtedly, since most of them bore the old man’s nosy signature. They must be recently arrived for, at a signal from him, the boys all smartly turned on their heels and followed their parent, right up to the steps. Lord Raid of Benden was talking to his host and, seeing Corman approach, bowed and stepped away. Lord Sifer of Bitra gestured for Lord Raid to join him and a group of minor Holders conversing near the watchtower steps. Of the other Lord Holders, Groghe of Fort, Sangel of Boll, Meron of Nabol, Nessel of Crom, Robinton saw nothing. Dragons trumpeted on high and a half wing of them began to spiral down to the wide field where Robinton had landed.
Bronzes, blues – ah, and five golden queens – came to rest briefly. Discharging their passengers, most of them leaped skyward again, toward the fire ridges above the Hold.
Robinton made his way hastily to his host then, before the newest arrivals swarmed up the ramp to the Great Court.
There was a hearty cheerfulness about Lord Larad’s greeting that masked a deep inner anxiety. His eyes, blue and candid, restlessly scanned the Court. The Lord of Telgar was a handsome man though there was scant resemblance between him and his only full sibling, Kylara. Evidently it was Kylara who had inherited their sire’s appetites. Just as well.
“Well come, Master Harper, we all look forward to your entertaining songs,” Lord Larad said, according the Harper a deep bow.
“We shall play in tune with the times and the occasion, Lord Larad,” Robinton replied, grinning broadly at such bluntness. They both heard the ripple of music as the young harpers began to move among the guests.
The whoosh of great wings drew their eyes upward. The dragons flew across the sun, briefly shadowing the Court. All talk died for a moment, then renewed more loudly than before.
Robinton moved on, greeting Lord Larad’s first lady and true love, for he had no others besides her. The young Lord of Telgar, at least, was constant.
“Lord Asgenar, my felicitations. Lady Famira, may I wish you all happiness, to have and to hold.”
The girl blushed prettily, glancing shyly at Lord Asgenar. Her eyes were as blue as her half-brother’s. She had her hand on Asgenar’s arm, having known him a long time. Larad and Asgenar had been fosterlings at the Hold of Lord Corman of Keroon, though Larad had been elected earlier to his dignities than Asgenar. There’d be no problem with this wedding, although it remained for the Conclave of Lord Holders to ratify it, since the progeny of this marriage might one day Hold either Telgar or Lemos. A man cast his seed widely if he was a Lord Holder. He had many sons in the hope that one male of his Blood would train up strong enough to be acceptable to the Conclave, when the question of Succession arose. Not that that ancient custom was as scrupulously observed as it had been. The wise Lord extended fosterage to the Blooded children of other Lords, to gain support in Conclave as well as to insure his own progeny being well-fostered.