When the mating flight did occur, Robinton tactfully did not ask for any details the next time F'lon appeared at Benden Hold. F'lon made only one reference to the event.
"S'loner had no great joy in the day. We all hope Chendith had more." He spoke in such a neutral tone that Robinton couldn't tell if F'lon had got over his disappointment; but the bronze rider had an infinite capacity to ignore what he wished.
F'lon was shortly able to report that Nemorth was showing unmistakable signs that she was in egg. He even appeared happy to be able to make such an announcement.
"All in all, considering the way Jora carries on, I'm just as glad that I don't have to put up with her nonsense and carryings-on.
S'loner's welcome to them." He grinned maliciously.
In his capacity as Hold harper, Robinton was invited to the Hatching and the Impression. And impressive that was for the sensitive harper. He had never seen such joy, or felt so touched by another's elation. Each new bonding added to the impact, and he found himself wishing desperately that somehow he could have been both harper and rider. He was in tears, and unashamed, by the end of the Hatching. Even F'lon, collecting him from the spectators' seats above the Hatching Ground, was blurry-eyed with unshed tears.
"Gets to you, doesn't it?" the bronze rider murmured, wiping his eyes.
"I didn't realize it was like ..." And Robinton spread his hand helplessly over the hot sands – which made him speed up his pace lest he scorch the soles of his feet even through good harper boot leather. "The most incredible moment in a man's life ... isn't it?"
"Indeed." F'lon glanced fondly over his shoulder at Simanith, who was leaving the Hatching Ground by the upper exit. Most of the dragons were already on their way to their own weyrs, and Robinton was awed by the sight of their deft insertion in the dark hole at the top of the immense cavern. He was amazed how gracefully imminent collisions were avoided as the flying dragons filed out.
F'lon draped a careless arm across Robinton's shoulders. "Now is the good time. In the euphoria of an Impression, all old insults and agitations are put aside. Even Raid came today."
"Wasn't he supposed to?" Robinton asked, hoping that tonight he might at last get some answers to explain the estrangement between Raid and F'lon. They had once been very good friends. Robinton hadn't noticed at first that the two were never in the same room together. But F'lon could be caustic, and Raid had his own foibles.
"Maidir and Hayara have talked of nothing else since the drum message came about the clutch."
"And Maizella and that fish-faced spouse of hers." F'lon grimaced. "She's pretty enough to have done better than that."
"Cording's got a large and prosperous hold on the Eastern Sea.
He gives her sea jewels and goes goggle-eyed when she sings to him," Robinton remarked, keeping his tone non-judgmental. He liked Maizella much better now than he ever had as a child. He also rather liked Cording, who was solicitous of his love's parents and the brood of younger children, and courteous to his Lord Holder, but he did have a distinct resemblance to a fish: with that shock of sun-bleached hair, flat face, and rather blunted features. 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 welclass="underline" 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.