F'lon turned sideways and tapped his shoulder. Obediently Robinton stood back to back with him. F'lon's hand proved their heads were on the same level.
"Going to grow any more."?" F'lon asked.
Robinton laughed, partly out of elation that F'lon had remembered his promise and partly because they were the object of much attention from the windows overlooking the courtyard – including, Robinton realized, stifling a groan, the rehearsal hall where his father was working with the chorus. He also caught a glimpse of Lorra, standing on the steps of the Hall and beckoning to him. And then he saw her youngest daughter, Silvina, running across the courtyard towards them. She skidded to a stop and passed the dragon at a more decorous pace.
"Mother... says... he must have... hospitality..." she said, catching her breath and looking awed to be so close to dragon and rider.
"This is my friend from Benden Weyr who is now bronze rider, F'lon," Rob said, daring to clap F'lon on the back to show that a dragonrider would allow him such familiarity. "This is Silvina, whose mother makes the best cakes and pastries in the world."
"Well," F'lon said, rubbing his hands together appreciatively, "a dragonrider never refuses hospitality!" He paused, looking directly at Simanith. "He'll wait for me on the heights. Plenty of sun today."
Simanith sprang up after his rider and Robinton reached the steps, and yet his wings still flung dirt and gravel at them.
"Is riding a dragon as good as you thought it would be?" Rob asked shyly as they entered the Hall.
F'lon grinned and took a deep breath. "You've no idea how good it is." He slapped his friend on his back. "But I'll fly you anywhere you need to go, m'friend. Are you still singing?"
"Baritone now," Rob said with some satisfaction. "You? Not that it matters if you're a bronze rider."
"Oh, it matters," F'lon assured him with sufficient emphasis to reassure. "Dragons like music, and I guess I'm baritone too." He did a descending scale in what Robinton professionally appraised as a light if pleasant voice.
"You're right – baritone. Too bad I'm not also a rider."
F'lon's expression changed as he caught the wistful note in his friend's voice. "There've been so few clutches that there were a lot of weyrbred to stand on the Hatching Ground. S'loner decided not to Search. Happens sometimes that way." F'lon's rueful smile was genuine. "You'd've made a good rider." Then he paused, his eyes unfocusing briefly.
I will talk to you, Robinton, if you wish me to, said a voice in Robinton's mind: a voice that had F'lon's intonation and texture.
The double surprise, that Simanith was speaking to him and in F'lon's voice, caused Robinton to stumble on the steps. Grinning, the rider helped him regain his balance.
"Maybe it's a poor substitute, Rob, but the best I can do for you," F'lon said.
"Simanith sounds like you," Robinton managed to remark.
"Does he?" F'lon considered this. "I hadn't noticed. We only hear them in our heads, after all, and not really out loud. Anyway, you can talk to him any time you want."
"Thanks, I will. When I can think of something appropriate to say." "You will," F'lon said with great certainty.
Silvina was waiting at the small dining-room door and escorted them in. Robinton introduced his friend to Lorra. Though not as flustered as her daughter, she was clearly pleased to dispense hospitality to a dragonrider.
"I sent a messenger to your mother, Rob, because I know she's mentioned Falloner – excuse me, F'lon – as one of her pupils."
So a very cordial hour followed Merelan's entrance. All the cakes and most of the biscuits were consumed, and F'lon promised to fly Merelan anywhere on Pern she wanted to go whenever she needed transport. Then she had to excuse herself to give a lesson, but she saw F'lon and Robinton to the entrance, where she assured F'lon she'd take him up on his offer.
"That is, if you're allowed," she said, glancing up at the tall young rider with a mischievous look in her eyes.
"I don't have much else to do. Even this', he told her, gesturing around the Harper Hall court, "is sort of work. We have to know how to get to any place on Pern, so actually, this is seen as a legitimate visit. I can come as often as I like."
F'lon had increased his assertiveness, Robinton noticed, exchanging a knowing glance with his mother.
"You can drum me if I'm needed," F'lon said, awarding Rob another of his affectionate punches before he leaped to Simanith's raised forearm and vaulted from there to the bronze's back.
"He's very much the rider, isn't he?" Merelan murmured to her son as they both waved farewell. "What a charming lad."
"You used to call him a devil, Mother," Robinton said chidingly.
"Shortening his name will have made no change to his essential nature, love. In fact, it's probably compounded the problem," she said tersely. "But I like it in him that he would honour that promise to you." She gave his arm a final squeeze and a gentle push towards the workroom and his interrupted session.
Master Gennell did pause on his way to the head table to enquire if the visitor had been Robinton's friend at Benden Weyr. Robinton apologized for the interruption.
"No need, lad, not when a dragonrider favours you with his company."
Petiron, whose rehearsal had been interrupted by the dragon's arrival, scowled at him, but Robinton looked away as if he hadn't seen. It wasn't as if he had asked F'lon to visit. He disliked being discourteous to anyone, especially his own father, but he had learned painfully that anything he did annoyed his father, even when he did nothing. He tried not to remember things his roommates had said about their fathers, and special things their fathers had done for – and, more importantly in Rob's eyes, with – them.
Harpers, of course, were different, and he shouldn't judge one by another's standards. Yet ... that didn't make it easier being his father's son.
He completed all his projects and passed all the examinations that would promote him to the rank of journeyman by the time he was halfway through his third Turn of training. Of course, he had had a head start, having begun his training so much sooner than any of the other lads in his group, who learned to come to him for help with any difficulties in their studies or their projects. Not even Lear teased him about his competence because, by the time they reached Third with him, they knew all about his problems with his father -and sympathized – and they all adored his mother. That was easier for Robinton to deal with: he adored her, too. But he knew, if his father didn't, that every performance took more out of her than it should. He even took his worry to MasterHealer Ginia, when Maizella told him his mother had fainted after one intense rehearsal prior to the Spring Equinox Gather at Fort.
"I really don't know what's ailing her, Rob," Ginia said, frowning slightly, "though I've made her promise to take the remainder of the summer off and rest. Let Petiron handle whatever vocal training has to be done--' She shot him a searching look. "Or you." Her expression softened and she patted his hand. "You almost do anyway, from what I've heard."
Robinton sat up straighter in the chair, alarmed. All he needed was for his father to know about his coaching some of the chorus ...
"Now, don't fret. Your father notices only what he wishes, and he certainly has not seen what's happening to Merelan."
"But you don't know what is happening," Robinton protested.
"I know that she needs rest, a lack of tension – you know how your mother is before a performance, learning new music ..." He nodded, because she often worked herself as hard bringing the soloists up to the level Petiron expected as he did his instru-mentalists and chorus.