“Perceptive of you, Hayon.”
I’ll cover for you. There’re enough harpers here, as well as Master Gennell.”
Robinton wished he could have been in two places at once, but it was far more important for him to keep F’lon asleep until the Council had departed. He wondered just what had transpired between the two. F’lon was known to be a clever fighter … but no rider should put his life – and that of his dragon – in jeopardy.
Which was why it had been irresponsible of S’loner to fly when he was unwell. Robinton knew that a man’s heart could stop from one second to another. Chendith would have known in that instant that his rider had died, and the presence of a passenger would not have deterred the dragon from suicide. And the grievously tragic death of Lord Maidin
F’lon was asleep, sprawled out on the bed. Carefully, Robinton laid a blanket over him lest a chill wake him prematurely. The sun was well west by now, and the room was cooling down. He locked his door, pocketed the key and, taking a light fur from the closet, laid himself down on the little bed in the room he’d occupied as a child.
He was asleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes …
“All right, where’s the key?” a voice said in his ear as a hand shook him roughly.
The little room was dark, and only one glowbasket was open in the outer chamber, but the long boots on the figure by his bed
told him that F’lon was up and anxious to leave.
“Oh, sorry, F’lon.”
F’lon snapped his fingers for the key as Robinton fumbled for it in his pants. “If I find that the High Reaches contingent took another dragon back, I shall be quite annoyed.”
“If one hasn’t,” Robinton replied, “I shall be.”
He gave the key over and lay back, wishing he’d been allowed to sleep round the clock as he heard F’lon stride noisily across the outer room, fumble the key into the lock, and swing the door open so roughly that it crashed into the wall.
“I’d better go after him,” he murmured to himself, but he consoled himself with the thought that C’vrel would have whisked the High Reaches trio off long before now.
He was right. F’lon must have just received that information from Hayon when Robinton reached the top of the stairs, for the bronze rider glared fiercely over his shoulder at him. Then, in one of his lightning changes of mood, F’lon smiled and waved a hand.
The tension drained out of his face, and he sauntered over to see what he could find on the depleted refreshment table. Hayon and his younger sisters and brothers formed a disconsolate group to one side of the hearth; on the other, Lady Hayara sat with her sisters and brothers who had come to bear her company.
Robinton made his way down the stairs and stopped one of the drudges. “Would you know if the MasterHarper is still here?”
She pointed to the hallway and then crooked her finger to the left to indicate the small dining room.
He found Master Gennell with Lord Grogellan and the MasterHealer.
“F’lon is up,” he told them, “and I gather the High Reaches folk are long gone.”
Master Gennell grinned; Grogellan chuckled and asked, “Master Ginia, did you get a chance to assess Lord Faroguy’s condition?”
She nodded. “His son will see that he has the best of care for however much longer he is with us,” she said solemnly. “It is a
condition of the blood for which there is no cure for a man his age.” “Does Fax know this?” Robinton asked bluntly.
Grogellan snorted and Master Gennell looked about to reproach his journeyman, but Ginia raised her hand.
“That young man knows a great deal too much about too many
matters that are not actually the concern of a small’ – and she stressed the adjective – “holder.”
“Who might not remain small,” Robinton said. “That’s a very ambitious and greedy person.”
“You had a run-in with him at High Reaches?” Gennell asked.
“Not a run-in, Master, but, as I felt obliged to tell you when I returned from that contract, he does not permit harpers to teach his holders basic skills.”