"I've never heard him sing," Robie protested.
Merelan chuckled. "Oh, he can. He just doesn't feel he sings well enough." She gave a little chuckle. "But, if you listen closely, you'll hear him joining the baritone line in the choral parts. He had a very good natural voice when he first came to the Hall. He just didn't think it was solo quality." She made a little grimace, followed by a light sigh. "He has to be perfect in anything he does."
"Mother," Robie began, because the problem was becoming more and more pressing, "what will I do when Father takes me for composition as a journeyman?" His unreliable voice cracked on the second syllable.
"Walk the tables first, love, and don't worry. Though I must be truthful and say that I wonder how we're going to keep from upsetting him over that. You already know as much as he does about theory, composition, and even orchestration. Fortunately, I think your particular forte is with vocal rather than instrumental music, so you won't be in direct competition with him. He may not see it in the same light, but neither of us can help that, can we? Let's go and have some klah, shall we?" She put her gitar carefully back in the case and reached up to caress his cheek. "I still can't get accustomed to the sudden height of you. I wonder how tall you'll be. All the men in my family are certainly tall."
"I remember Rantou." Robie grinned, because he would never forget how upset his father had been at Rantou's preference for working as a lumberman, when he had the voice and musicality to be a harper. At least Robinton was not the only one whom his father expected to be perfect.
When his voice finally settled into the baritone range, he was nearly the tallest of the second-Turn apprentices. His father relegated him to the back row of the chorus, where Robinton was quite happy to be. His mother, however, beginning to instruct him in his new voice, was delighted with its flexibility and depth.
"It's a lovely voice, Robie." She flicked her fingers in an excess of delight, smiling at him. "Velvety and rich. Now, we won't force it but I think it's solo quality."
"Even if my father's isn't?"
Merelan made a face. "Yours has a totally different timbre, and a better range. We can work it into something special."
"Something appropriate for simple songs?"
Her grimace darkened and she slapped his arm. "Simple songs that everyone loves to hear, play and sing! Don't you dare belittle what you do so very well. Far better than he ever could. The only real music he ever wrote--" She stopped, pursing her lips in irritation.
"Was the music he wrote while we were at Benden." Robinton finished the sentence for her. "And you're right. Speaking quite objectively as a harper, my father's compositions are technically perfect and demanding, brilliant for instrumentalists and vocal dexterity, but scarcely for the average holder and craftsman."
She waggled her finger under his nose. "And don't you ever forget that!"
Robinton caught the threatening finger and kissed it lovingly.
"Oh, Robie," she said in a totally different voice. "How different it all could have been." She leaned against him in regret, taking consolation in his tall, strong form and his embrace.
"Well, it wasn't, Mother, and we can't alter what has been." He patted her back soothingly.
Abruptly, and in another lightning change of mood, she pushed away from him, poking him in the ribs. "Will you ever fill out? I swear, you're nothing but bones."
"And there's Lorra complaining I eat twice as much as any other three apprentices! You're a fine one to complain," he added, noting a distinctive pallor in her complexion. She flushed, moving away completely.
"It's nothing." She gave a funny laugh. "Change of life, Ginia says." "You're not that old, surely," Robinton protested, vehemently denying that his mother would ever age. "Why, your voice is better than ever."
She laughed with real humour. "Proof, son of mine, that I'm in my prime, not my decline."
The Harper Bell chimed the turn of the hour and she gave him a little push. "Your harp awaits you."
He kissed her cheek and was out of the door to the accompaniment of another chuckle. But he knew she understood his eagerness to put the finishing touches on the lap harp which had caused him so much anxiety. It was one of the four pieces he had to finish creditably to become a journeyman, and he wanted it so that even his father could not find fault with it.
When his work was displayed anonymously with the others, his father passed it by without comment and dismissed someone else's instead. Of course, Robinton had been careful not to repeat patterns of embellishment which he had used on other items. It amused him that never again did his father find fault with anything of his among those he inspected.
The highlight of his second turn as an apprentice came in the spring. Robinton was in the semi-basement workshop at the front end of the Hall rectangle when suddenly a bronze dragon landed in the centre of the courtyard and the rider cupped his hands and yelled, "Robinton? Robinton!Apprentice Robinton.t' That final call was almost a taunt, coming out in a singsong tone.
"By the First Egg! It's you the dragonrider wants, Rob," Master Bosler said.
Robinton peered out of the half-window and saw nothing but bronze dragon feet and belly. "May I go?"
"My dear boy, if a dragonrider calls for anyone," the Master said, grinning, "that person had better hop it... Off with you!"
Robinton raced up the steps and out of the right-hand door into the courtyard. "I'm here, F'lon.t' he yelled, racing across the courtyard to the bronze, who had craned his neck round, eyes bright blue and whirling with excitement.
"I told you i'd come..." and F'lon modified his tone as he dismounted gracefully to meet his old friend, embracing him in his eagerness.
Once again, Rob was struck by F'lon's unusual amber eyes, which sparkled with delight.
"You also told me you'd Impress bronze..." Rob looked politely at the watching dragon. "What's your name, if you don't mind?"
The dragon blinked.
"Ah, he's shy." F'lon's wicked smile belied that. "His name is Simanith." The dragon put his head close to his rider's body, his eyes on Robinton. "You can always speak to my friend Robinton, if you want. He's going to be MasterHarper – when he gets old enough."
"Now, wait a minute!" Robinton exclaimed, holding up his hands defensively and laughing at the very thought. MasterHarper was not only a position he had no desire for but one his father would certainly veto.
"Dream, man, that you make Harper. I dreamed and look..." F'lon gestured dramatically at Simanith – a broad, proud grin nearly splitting his face in two.
"I was in the Drum Tower when the news came in, and I got permission to find out who Impressed bronze, so I've known," Rob told his friend.
"And never sent me word."?" F'lon scowled in mock disgust as he stripped off the close-fitting riding helmet.
"Well, you're not supposed to send private messages. I got the whole list though, Rangul and Sellel..."
F'lon wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, R'gul and S'lel are bronze riders, too, though why they were picked out of those presented I will never know." He rubbed at his sweaty hair. "Hey, you've got tall."
Robinton stepped back to sweep his friend with an appraising look. "You're not short yourself."
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.
"I think a summer down in South Boll with her family, with absolutely no performances and responsibilities, will see her right. It has been a very hard winter."
She patted Robinton's hand again. "You're a good son, Rob, and your concern does you credit. Now, I'll keep you informed, but you
help me in getting her to take a good long rest, will you?"
"Have you spoken to Master Gennell?"
"Repeatedly," Ginia said, pursing her full mouth with indignation.
"But we all know that the Spring Equinox is important in our calendar and had better go off with no problems ..." She rose, a signal that their interview was at an end, and smiled at him. "You should go with her and be sure she eats well and rests every day."
"I'll try." And he'd take F'lon up on his offer to fly MasterSinger Merelan anywhere.
As it happened, he didn't go with his mother: his father did.
Merelan collapsed after singing the exacting solo at the end of the Equinox Ceremony, and Petiron could no longer ignore the fact that his spouse was ill.
Robinton did send the drum message, requesting F'lon's assistance, and he did help his mother on to Simanith's back. He had to step away as his father mounted beh
ind her. The fact that his father looked distinctly nervous, anxious and worried did not at all alleviate his own fears for her. Just this once – he sent his thoughts at his father -just this once, think of her first!
An hour later, F'lon returned and, over a cool juice drink and more of Lorra's light pastries, gave details of how he had installed Merelan in the cliffside dwelling with its splendid view of the sea, and how Petiron had hovered like an old wherry, fussing until F'lon was sure he'd drive Merelan insane with his attentions. Her youngest sister had appealed to her spouse to take the man away and let Merelan rest, and promised to see that Merelan did do so.
"She was upset when she saw your mother. I remember her being slight at Benden but not ... not ... frail," F'lon said, glancing at Lorra, who nodded.
"I spoke to Ginia, and she believes that a full summer off will restore my mother's health." Even as Rob spoke, he caught Lorra
and F'lon exchanging glances. "Now, look, if there's something I should know, tell me. She's my mother! I have a right to know."
Lorra turned to him, making a sudden decision. "Ginia doesn't know, so what can she tell you? But she's hoping the rest will help.
Merelan has never been very strong ..."
"You mean, after giving birth to a big lug like me?" Robinton demanded. He had overheard his father complaining that having a child had seriously damaged her.
"You weren't that big at birth, for all of you now," Lorra said in her droll fashion, "so don't cover yourself with midden dung in guilty reparation. You have never been at fault." She cleared her throat, realizing that her emphasis implied that she knew who was.
"Merelan's always lived on nerve. It's the energy she uses to sing and perform at the level she does that drains her so. But there comes a time in a woman's life when she isn't as resilient as she was in her twenties."
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