“I hoped he would. You can do better elsewhere.”
“Benden’s a good Hold,” Robinton protested out of loyalty and truth.
“Under Maidir, yes. Raid’s going to have to learn some tact.” “You heard talk about that?”
F’lon gave a shrug. “Hang on.” And Simanith gave the head-snapping leap skyward.
Robinton did feel a lump in his throat at leaving Benden Hold.
He had been happy there as a child, and so proud to have been asked to come back as a journeyman for Maidir. Really, he had done his best as he had been taught. Where had he gone wrong?
“Nowhere, as I interpret the matter,” Master Gennell said when Robinton had his interview. “Young Lord Raid has a lot to learn about handling his people.” The MasterHarper sat with steepled fingers and a sympathetic expression on his face. “He will, though.
He had good training. And the results of his current practices will show him the error of his ways.”
“Really?” Robinton gave a snort of disbelief.
“Oh, I think so.” Then Master Gennell grinned. “Actually I can use your talents in at least six other positions. You may choose.”
That was how Robinton came to spend the next two turns at Tillek Hold. And found the first love of his life. The only two drawbacks to the posting would be the awful weather which never seemed to include many sunny days, and the very sharp, foxy white wine the slopes of Tillek hills produced. He would also start the extra study for his Mastery, which included Applications of the Charter and the Precepts of Arbitration and Mediation, advanced aspects of Harper Hall’s purview. The Tillek Hold MasterHarper, Minnarden, had agreed to undertake his tuition, since Minnarden attended the Hold’s court sessions. Robinton was looking forward to working under Minnarden, and his mother thought well of this Master.
“Solid man for basics, and a kind person too,” she’d said. “You’ll have no trouble with him.” She’d added one of her mischievous smiles, slanting her gaze up at her tall son. “He dandled you on his
knee at one point.” She laughed as Robinton grimaced. “Don’t worry, love. He won’t embarrass you by remembering.”
Robinton certainly hoped not. He didn’t think such a reminiscence would be good for his authority over a class.
He and young Groghe, Grogellan’s third son, made the trip on runner-back: some of the good Ruathan stock which were so popular, plus a pack-beast for their supplies and effects. Groghe was going to spend a Turn in Tillek Hold, stewarding for Lord Melongel. Lord Holders often rotated their sons in hold management, or fostered them outright from time to time.
Groghe was Rob’s age, an energetic young man who resembled his mother, Lady Winalla, more than his father. He made the arduous trip pleasant for, despite a tendency to make all the decisions about camping and hunting and duties, he was a sturdy traveller and a good companion. His taste in songs leaned to the bawdy but Robinton didn’t mind obliging him in the evenings, especially when they sheltered overnight in one of the all-male holds – miners, herders and foresters – on their way. For the simpler melodies, Groghe sometimes accompanied him on a pipe.
On the way, Groghe had a small errand to do for his father. One of Lord Grogellan’s high mountain holders was having trouble with a neighbour who was on Tillek Hold lands, not Fort. Groghe was to see what he could do to solve a problem which had now existed for several turns.
“I’m fed up with his complaints, both written and at Gathers,” Lord Grogellan had said. “I’ve sent messages to Melongel, who’s equally disgusted with the case. With Journeyman Robinton along, you should be able to solve the problem. A matter of a mutual wall, I understand. Making a mountain out of a very small pile of dirt.”
When they came down the side of the mountain, heading north, they saw the two cots, both substantial in size. The Fort man was a herder, the Tillek man a forester. The cots were separated by several dragons’ lengths, and in plain sight was a collapsed stone wall, five or six lengths long, which separated field from forest.