He died later that day, in a terrible agony which not even the massive doses of fellis or the application of numbweed on his abdomen could dull.
"No violation, no mutilation, just death," Ginia murmured as she wearily stumbled away from the tragedy. "Once we knew so much more ..." She shook a little and leaned on Oldive.
So the Telgar Gather was cancelled and, instead, the Lord Holders came to Fort Hold to confirm Groghe as the new Lord Holder. Fax was conspicuous by his absence.
"But then, he wasn't invited," Gennell said grimly, "because he has not followed the established procedure of taking formal Hold."
"I doubt that bothers him," Robinton remarked. "I wish I knew what he had planned at Telgar."
That question was answered, in part or in whole, when Lady Relna of Crom and her two youngest children begged sanctuary from Lord Ashmichel and Lady Adessa at Ruatha Hold. Neither her spouse nor their two oldest boys had survived Fax's forcible entry into their Hold.
Groghe began to drill every man in Fort between the ages of sixteen and fifty. Tarathel and Melongel grimly followed his example and doubled their border patrols.
The following winter, another bitterly cold one, MasterHarper Gennell died of a failing heart. Ogolly, Washell, and Gorazde -frail though he was – drummed messages about the country. They had known that Master Robinton was the named successor, but it would be spring before the requisite number of Masters could return to the Hall for a formal election. No one wished the Harper Hall to be leaderless at such a time. Robinton could hear the messages coming in and going out. He found that their import was muffled down in the kitchen of the Harper Hall – where Silvina, Lorra's capable daughter, kept him company and poured out the numerous cups of clah he drank during the long wait.
Her mother had retired to her family home in South Boll three turns before and Silvina, as dark-haired and energetic as her mother had been, was headwoman in the Hall. Robinton liked her matter-of-fact attitude towards the duties and the disasters of the Hall – and the fact that she had been quite willing to bed him whenever he stopped there long enough to renew their friendship. She had more sense than to mention any sadness in his eyes, though she knew the memory of Kasia had not dimmed in the ten turns since her death. Vina accepted him as he was and made no demands, and gave him considerable relief and kindness. He was grateful, and that seemed to be enough for her. She was as big-hearted as her mother.
"The drums have stopped," she said suddenly, about to pour him yet another cup of klah.
"So they have," he said, realizing that he could no longer feel the vibrations through the stone walls of the Hall. He swallowed and she grinned at his discomfort.
"You could have stayed above and kept count."
"What if--' He stopped at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. At least two people were approaching.
Silvina reached out a hand and gripped his.
A grinning Ogolly and Jerint appeared, a sheaf of small square hides in hand.
"Master Robinton, would you be willing to assume the responsibility of the Master of the Hall and Craft?" Ogolly asked formally, his tone belied by his wide grin and happy eyes.
"I would be willing," Robinton said, though his throat had gone dry.
"It is the unanimous..." Jerint paused to be sure Robinton appreciated that "... decision of all the Masters of this Craft that you accept this position and all its honours, privileges, prerogatives and ... all that hard work!" He stepped forward, gripping Robinton's hand in his and shaking it hard. "I bless the Egg that it's you, Rob!"
"Who else?" Ogolly demanded, taking his turn to pump the hand of the newly appointed MasterHarper of the Craft. "Who else, dear boy? Who else? Merelan would be so -' Ogolly's eyes teared up and his voice cracked, but he went on "– so very, very proud of you right now."
Robinton, gripping Ogolly's hand, felt his throat close in response to the mention of his beloved mother. "She would, she would."
"She always said you would be Master," Silvina said. She threw her arms about Robinton's neck to kiss him soundly. "Mother'll be so happy, Rob. So happy. The day you were born, she said she knew you were destined for great things."
"Petiron helped take the count, Rob," Jerint put in, and there was a wicked sparkle in his eyes.
"He's proud of you, too, Robinton ..." Ogolly said quite solemnly. "Really, he is."
Robinton only nodded. Silvina, busy at one of the cupboards, produced glasses and a wine-skin, which she held out to Robinton so that he could see the label.
"Benden?" he exclaimed.
"Gennell ordered in a supply just for today!" she said. "I've kept it safe," she added, casting a reproving glare at Jerint, "so open this skin. There'll be enough to get every last one of you legless tonight."
Robinton was still hung over the next morning when he entered the office of the MasterHarper. He stopped when he saw there was someone waiting: Petiron. His father had not been backward in toasting and drinking the health of the new MasterHarper the previous night, a fact of which Robinton had taken wary note.
"As one of your first duties as MasterHarper, Robinton, I wish you will assign me to a post," his father said in a stiff and formal tone. "I think you will do well in this office. I wish you the best, but I feel that my presence here in the Hall might cause you embarrassment..."
"Really ... Father ..." Robinton mentally berated himself that the unused title came out so awkwardly.
Petiron gave a little smile, as if that hesitation was proof enough of his contention. "I think it would be easier for you to assume your responsibilities without ... feeling ... well, that I might not agree."
Robinton caught his father's eyes and slowly nodded. "That is considerate, most considerate, but hardly necessary ...
"I insist," Petiron said, raising his chin in a stubborn pose his son knew all too well.
"There aren't any major Holds ..."
"I would prefer a minor one--"
"You are a Master and as such deserve--"
"What I ask for."
"But you have that fine new apprentice – Domick? I thought you were very pleased with his progress."
Petiron gave a snort and dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand. "That young man thinks he knows everything. You can have the pleasure of dealing with him."
Robinton managed not to grin. He had heard about the fine rows his father had with Domick, arguing chromatic variations, and he rather thought Petiron might have met his match.
"I just thought that ..." he tried again.
"Well, you thought wrong. What contracts are available?" And Petiron held out his hand, all but snapping his fingers at his son to speed him up.
Robinton stepped round to the front of the desk where messages were piled in order and by subject. For the last few weeks of his life, Gennell had kept Robinton up to date on all Hall matters, so he knew which pile contained the requests for harpers. He picked it up and handed it to Petiron.
"See if one of these suits," he said, acquiescing to the inevitable.
In a way, he was relieved. He would indeed feel a slight inhibition that his father might question some of the decisions he would have to make – especially as Petiron had widely opposite notions about the imminence of Threadfall and what fourth-turn composition apprentices had to learn even if they were unlikely ever to have to teach theory and composition. It would be easier if Petiron were not here.
"I have made it quite clear to my peers that this is my choice, Robinton, and none of your doing," said Petiron, picking out one message and handing it to his son. "This one will suit me."