Robinton looked at it and blinked. "Half Circle SeaHold? Father, you can't! It's the back end of nowhere. I've been there. The only ways in are by sea or dragonback."
"Still, it is right on Nerat Bay, and any halfway decent captain can get me there. They haven't had a harper in six turns. There'll be a lot of work to remedy that sort of neglect. You are so determined that everyone shall know the Teaching Ballads: here's a challenge for me."
"But there are holds in Keroon, and that one on the Telgar River..."
"I have chosen Half Circle SeaHold. Do not deny me, Robinton."
"Please consider another," Robinton insisted, worried about the degree of isolation afforded by Half Circle SeaHold.
"I have chosen, MasterHarper." With that, Petiron made a formal bow and left the office.
"By the Egg!" Robinton flopped down into the comfortable chair which Gennell had occupied and wondered if he would ever fit in it as well as the dear old man had hoped. He had already made – or had made for him – his first official decision. He devoutly hoped it was the right one.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Many of Robinton's duties that Turn were simply to keep the ordinary daily doings of the Harper Hall going smoothly, accepting new apprentices, conferring journeyman status on those qualifying, and confirming one Master: lerint, who took over from the frail Gorazde.
F'lon was ecstatic with his friend's rise to the MasterHarpership and would come at the roll of a drum message to take him to any Hold or Hall that required the presence of the MasterHarper.
Robinton often availed himself of that courtesy since, in his role as mediator, he did a great deal of travelling. Sometimes it was the hope that he'd find a new candidate for the Harper Hall, recommended by the youngster's harper. But only one girl singer was brought to his attention and her parents felt she was too young, yet, to be away from home. She was sixteen, with a sweet voice he felt could be trained up, but she also had a young lad from the next hold whom she was keen to espouse. Singing was second best.
Then there were his necessary appearances at Gathers and the once-a-Turn Conclave to which Fax was never invited and where his name was never mentioned, even when Robinton, Melongel or Tarathel tried to initiate a discussion about the man's totally illegal usurpation of power.
"Why do you fuss so?" the grumpy, aged Lord Holder of Igen demanded. His face was a sea of lines, graven by squinting all his life at the hot sun over his Hold. "Fax is, I do believe, a nephew of old Faroguy and if his sons..."
"Farovene was killed..."
"Yes, yes, so everyone says, but Fax is of the Hold's Bloodline and if the other one... whatever his name was..."
"Is," Robinton said firmly, "Bargen..."
"Bargem then, can't stomach a challenge duel, eh? Then he isn't the sort of Lord his holders will follow, is he?" And when Melongel started to protest, Tesner of Igen interrupted him. "Ever think that Faroguy wanted a stronger man in his Hold? Huh? Ever think Fax might have been told by Faroguy to take Hold?"
No one had an answer for that, even Robinton, though he tried desperately to think of a diplomatic way of expressing his deep and instinctive distrust and anxiety over Fax's aggressiveness. There had been that time, close to Robinton's espousal to Kasia, when Melongel had wondered if the drum messages, purported to be sent by Faroguy, had really originated with the old Lord. Robinton did keep F'lon from speaking in his blunt way lest the Weyrleader antagonize the Lord Holders.
"Why'd you do that?" F'lon growled at Robinton. "At least we had them on the subject."
"There's an old maxim – "A man convinced against his will is of his own opinion still."' Robinton sighed, shaking his head. "We'll have to wait until Fax moves again."
"Or the next Pass starts!" F'lon said bitterly. "Then it'll be too late !"
"Or just right," Robinton added, as he imagined the chaos and backtracking the return of Thread would cause among those indolent and incredulous Holders and Masters.
Towards the end of the next spring, Nip brought new reports on Fax's activities.
"Man's taken over another hold," Nip said, slipping into Robinton's room late one night, wearing his runner's shorts. He was barefooted, carrying spiked running shoes in one hand. "It's late, I know, but your glows guided my steps to your door again," he added with a grin as he stopped by the chest where Robinton stored wine-skins and glasses. The running shoes clattered to the floor.
"Which two holds?" Robinton said, gesturing to indicate that he'd need a drink too, to help swallow the news.
"Not big ones," Nip said, "not greedy is our self-styled Lord of Three Holds. Just prosperous ones. And he plays no favourites..." Robinton said nothing, letting Nip vent his fury. "Just ventures a little ways into Telgar to nobble Radharc."
"It's not like Melongel to allow him away with that."
"Ah," and Nip held up a forefinger, "you hadn't heard that Melongel's ill?"
"No, I hadn't." Robinton sat up.
"Had a fall off a runner-beast..."
"Melongel's a good rider..."
Nip's smile was grim. "So he is but not when the animal is fed something that sends it into convulsions and pins the rider under him in its death throes."
"How could Fax..."
"Who knows, but Melongel is lucky to be still alive."
"Clostan's a very good healer..."
Nip nodded. "He is but he's worried. Almost every bone in Melongel's body was broken. He may never walk again."
Robinton's fist hit the table. "How could..."
Nip was rubbing his finger and thumb together, a very cynical expression on his face. "Fax buys loyalty and service... with the added incentive of fear. Who knows how he managed it? But I'd say he did. Which means there'll be no opposition from that quarter Oterel's a good lad but who would expect him to have to deal with this sort of crisis so early in his Holding?"
"How is Juvana?" Robinton owed her for her support when Kasia died.
"Working as hard as Clostan to save her spouse. They may bring it off yet."
"Is it just your suspicion that Fax was behind the... accident?"
Nip laughed. "Who else? It is so timely. Fax mardes the recently..." and Nip gave another false smile, "orphaned eldest daughter of the deceased holder on Tillek lands – no mention, of course, of any male siblings or relatives. On the Keroon side, he has a document that makes him the incumbent's choice of successor. I don't think the present holder can count on seeing the Turn out."
Robinton thumped the table again in frustration. "Can't something be done?"
"Off-hand, since no one will give us a hand, no," Nip said pragmatically. "That man's determined to own the entire west coast. Slowly, by inches, he moves into an area, eliminating," and here Nip drew a finger across his throat, "any opposition. He's got three spouses now, more than a sane man would wish. Doesn't the Charter restrict how many a man can have?"
"No," Robinton replied thoughtfully, pinching at his upper lip.
"Actually it doesn't deal with personal relationships at all – at least not the usual variety – though it is specific in the violation..." and Robinton paused, "such as rape or other unwanted acts."
"Damned Charter was written by idealists."
"Quite likely, but the Charter does work for the majority."
Nip grimaced. "It's the minority, the damaged and oppressed minority in Fax's general area we're talking about."
Robinton shook his head. "I've done all I can with the Lord Holders."
Nip leaned across the table, the expression in his eyes anxious and intent. "You're the one good with words, Harper. Find some stronger ones before it's too late."