Master Gennell took up where Minnarden had left off in Tillek Hold, bringing Robinton on in his Mastery studies. Gennell worked him ruthlessly on Charter clauses and mediation techniques, had him read endless accounts of arbitration and Conclave proceedings.
Such intense study, and Gennell turned into a drill master as exacting as Petiron, was a good way to distract a heart that was grieving, and Robinton was truly grateful to his Master.
Robinton was resident in the Hall when Betrice died of a sudden failure of her heart. So he was able to help Master Gennell deal with that loss. The entire Hall felt it, from the youngest apprentice to Petiron; and Halanna, now a sedate and plumply happy spouse and mother, put in an unexpected appearance.
"I owe that woman a great deal," she said. "Almost as much as I owed your mother, Master Robinton." She gave him an odd glance out of the corner of her eye. "In spite of what a nasty child I was then, it was those two who finally stuffed some sense in my conceited head. May I sing for her, with you? And for Merelan? I've always kept my voice going, you know."
"I didn't know, but I'm glad you have. My mother would be pleased," Robinton replied and he meant it.
So Halanna sang the music Petiron chose for the occasion, and her voice was warmer and more expressive than it had ever been while she had trained at the Harper Hall. In fact, it was such a fine voice that Master Gennell, once he had dried his eyes, wistfully commented that it was a shame there were so few women training at the Harper Hall these days.
"Can't you find us some, Robinton, in your travels?" Master Gennell asked. "To be sure, your mother was unusually dedicated, but here's Halanna still singing and I understand that Maizella does too. Find me some new females, will you?"
"You may be sure I'll look," Robinton replied fervently.
Anything to bring back the twinkle in his Master's eyes.
And he did look, listening to many hopeful girls as well as boys and trying to interest the better voices in coming to the Harper Hall to be trained.
Robinton attained his Mastery the following Turn and continued to be sent by Master Gennell to handle difficult Holders, substitute for ailing harpers or to attend Gathers in distant holds. He was also requested as an arbiter in Hold and Hall. When he could, he drummed to Benden Weyr and asked for F'lon's assistance – and listened to the dragonrider talking about his son, Fallamon, who was being fostered by Manora, the dignified weyr girl Robinton had noticed when S'loner and Maidir died. It was no surprise to Robinton to learn that, three Turns after Fallarnon's birth, she gave F'lon a second son: Famanoran.
F'lon had two worries. The first, and more important, was that the lazy Nemorth would never get off her couch in the queen's weyr for another mating flight so that he could become Weyrleader in place of the four-man leadership of C'vrel, C'rob, M'ridin and M'odon. The second was that no one would take him seriously about the threat posed by the "upstart Lord Holder Fax'.
Jora seemed to favour C'vrel, which further infuriated F'lon.
"Ever since S'loner took Lord Maidir between, C'vrel's been afraid to "annoy" the Lord Holders. I can understand him treading quietly around Raid – and there's another hide-bound idiot ..." He glared at Robinton when the harper made a mild protest. "Well, he is. Does everything the way his father did ... only Maidir was not only far more tolerant but also fairer-minded. He does send a scrupulous tithe to the Weyr, for which we are all grateful." F'lon grimaced. "I hate being beholden to the man!"
"It is his duty," Robinton said mildly.
F'lon scowled. "Well, we'll teach him his duty when I've flown Nemorth." Now his grimace was darker. "I dread it, I do, Rob. Jora's a fat slug. We oversee what Nemorth eats so she'll be able to climb to a decent height for her flight... but she has to be bullied into the air. Jora!" He raised his hands skyward in disgust and frustration.
"Imagine having a Weyrwoman who's afraid of heights!"
"I've often wondered how that happened," Robinton murmured.
F'lon snorted. "My father fancied her over the other candidates. There were only four, so low has the Weyr sunk in the estimation of the people of Pern it is pledged to protect."
That made Robinton sit up. "The Red Star's returning ..."
"No." F'lon pushed that notion away with one hand. "Not yet. For which I am grateful. Not for another three decades, by my reckoning."
"You'll be an old rider by then."
"I'll have two sons to take over for me, should I happen to fail..." F'lon showed his white teeth in a challenging grin. Then his expression turned grim again. "They'll know what the Weyr stands for. They'll know – from me-' he declared, prodding his chest, "what dragonriders are meant to do."
"What's the latest on Fax?" Robinton would never dignify the man with his assumed title. As it was, there never had been a Council of Lord Holders, CraftMasters and the Weyr to confirm his holding at High Reaches, usurping Bargen, if the young Lord Holder still lived.
"Oh, he's busy." F'lon's grin turned wickedly malicious. "Still can't get any male issue, and he's ploughing any pretty girl he can find. Isn't safe to be female in High Reaches any longer. And his duelling? Ha!" He raised both hands again. "He's got a grand way to rid himself of any who'd oppose him. He insults a man to the point of a fight... and he always wins. Then he puts those oafs and dimwits of his in any prosperous hold... and continues to encroach whenever he can."
"I'd heard."
Robinton had spied Gennell's invisible minion from time to time in his travels and patently ignored him. They had met, more formally, in Master Gennell's office on two occasions.
"Call me Nip, if my lack of name offends you," the runner had said with an amused grin. "I nip in and out, you see!"
Master Gennell had smiled at their confrontation. "And you're never to see him, Rob."
"I know," the young MasterHarper had replied.
But he also heard reports of Nip's forays.
"What had you heard, Rob?" F'lon asked.
"I know he's nibbling away on the borders of Crom and Nabol.
He daren't try his tricks in Tillek or Telgar. Both Melongel and Tarathel have mounted border guards with hill beacons to spread an alarm."
"Good, good," F'lon said, nodding approval. "But tell me when the rest of our languid Lords are going to take action against him.
They will have to, you know."
Robinton had had arguments with both Lord Grogellan of Fort and Lord Ashmichel of Ruatha. Groghe, fortunately, was more concerned than his father was. The Ruathan heir, Kale, had not been present when Robinton had sounded out Ashmichel. That Lord Holder had discounted Robinton's apprehensions, which worried him still more, since Ruatha not only bordered Nabol but was one of the most prosperous Holds, due to the fine runner-beasts it bred.
They would be a fine prize for Fax when he turned his covetous eyes to the grasslands of Telgar and Keroon. "It's foreign to the nature of Lord Holders to distrust one of their number," Robinton said flatly.
"And to ignore what they don't wish to admit."
"True. I'm doing my best to worry them."
"Did you know that he's espoused a Ruathan Blood?"
"No, I didn't." Robinton leaned forward intently. "Who?"
"Gemma." And when Robinton frowned, unable to place her, F'lon identified her: "She may be only a third cousin, but she's got Ruathan Blood if Fax wanted to use that as a pretext to Hold there. A come-down from being nephew or espousing a daughter."