When the cold weather deepened, Lady Hayara arrived with the Hold’s healer, Master Yorag, bringing the basin of warm wax to ease the frozen joints of the old harper’s hands and his knees. She helped rub in the herbal oils which increased daytime mobility.
“I do wish you’d reconsider the Neratian offer,” she would invariably say when she entered. “It is freezing here, and the cold is simply not good for your joints.”
I’ll be fine, Lady Hayara, I’ll be fine,” old Evarel insisted, adding most mornings, “now that Robinton’s here to assist.”
Then he began to add, “And he’s halved my work and taken over all the difficult tasks.”
By Turn’s End, when a chest congestion kept him in bed for six days running, and Robinton was beside himself to keep the water bottles warm enough to give him some comfort, Evarel succumbed to the inevitable and said that perhaps he ought to spend the rest of the winter where it was a trifle warmer.
Lady Hayara ordered up the travel wagon and had Robinton send drum messages to holds on the southern route to have team changes and fresh drivers ready so that Evarel would make the journey in the most comfort she could secure for him. Maizella and Hayon were sent along as his escort.
As Robinton carried the gaunt old MasterHarper down to the conveyance, he wondered why Benden hadn’t requested a dragon and rider. He had seen dragons in the sky, but none had touched down at Benden Hold as they used to do, and none had been invited for any of the dinners which Lady Hayara loved to give with the least excuse. Robinton had been too busy to visit F’lon on his own, to discover the Weyr’s viewpoint on the coldness between Hold and Weyr. Then he answered his own question, as he realized that the cold of between would have been the worst possible course for the sick man, not to mention the difficulty involved in hoisting him to the dragon’s back without additional pain.
The travel wagon’s narrow body was well sprung and well padded and would pass on most of the normal trails. Such vehicles had become quite popular during the long Interval. And most holders kept good teams ready in the beasthold or in a nearby paddock for travellers’ needs. This wagon was also comfortably sized: “Lady Hayara wide, which means the two of us will fit,” Maizella said with a touch of malice, although Robinton had noticed that she was now on better terms with her father’s second spouse than Raid was.
Robinton watched with a lump in his throat as the old man left.
Lady Hayara was openly weeping.
“He’s taught all my children, you see,” she admitted as Robinton gave her a steadying hand up the steps to the Hold. “And I really don’t think he should come back – even in the warmer weather.”
And so it was that Evarel did not return to Benden Hold.
Robinton slid into the vacancy and started quietly training three of the brighter Hold children to be his assistants. One lad was harper material, if he was not much mistaken. Robinton had a sixth sense for that: he likened it to the green dragon’s ability to perceive rider potential in youngsters. He did wish that somehow or other he could find a girl as talented. His mother would so enjoy having another voice to train as she had Halanna and Maizella.
A Turn and a half later, S’loner’s Chendith flew Jora’s Nemorth and a clutch resulted. Not a large one, but six bronzes, three browns, five blues and six greens. F’lon would still come to visit Robinton whenever he chose, seemingly oblivious to the bad feeling between S’loner and Maidin
F’lon had been quite caustic about the long wait for Nemorth to come into season. He blamed it on Jora’s own immaturity and fearfulness.
“This business of Jora being afraid of heights is inhibiting her queen, of all stupidities!” F’lon paced up and down Robinton’s apartment, waving his arms about in frustration. “I personally know that Nemorth was glowing as bright as a gold nugget when Jora takes it in her head to be violently nauseated and faint. Naturally that put the poor queen off, making her nearly frantic with worry over her rider.” F’lon kicked at a chair in his way, venting his disgust with the Weyrwoman. “Frankly, I’ll be surprised if we ever get Nemorth in the air to mate.”