Scared my spouse, that did. But we see anything coming up here and I tell her we’re in Tillek, holding with Lord Melongel, who’s a fair Holder if ever there was one, and the time hasn’t come when one Lord’ll run over what another has owned since his Blood took hold.” The phrase “run over what another has owned’ sent a shudder of fear through Robinton right down to his guts.
“So’s to reassure her, we’ve another cot,” Chochol said, waving his hand vaguely over his shoulder, “where we could go did we see someone coming who ought not. I don’t like it, Harper, I don’t like it one bit.”
“Nor I, Chochol, and you may be sure I will tell Lord Melongel of your worries.”
Robinton did no composing that night, for music had gone out of his head. He had asked Chochol if the women had mentioned names, or where they were going in Tillek, but Chochol replied that he didn’t know because he hadn’t asked. He had seen them safely to the fiver track to the sea, and given them what they could spare of provisions.
Most nights, though, Robinton would drain glowbaskets of their last glimmer, penning his sonata. He also wrote other music for his Kasia, composing love songs on the long stretches between holds – though sometimes the notes on the hide showed the roughness of his travel and had to be corrected. These were only for Kasia, written for her to play for herself on her harp.
He finished the sonata before he got back to Tillek Hold, before the Autumn Gather and their espousal.
Kasia welcomed him so warmly that their reunion lasted all night long, which delighted a travel-weary young man who had desperately missed the object of his affections.
They spent almost as much time talking as making love. They discussed their future at length. Now and then, he related the amusing incidents that he hadn’t written to her – since most of his letters had been intensely loverly, as she described them. She would treasure them for ever. Of course, the wall incident had been meat for runners all across Tillek Hold.
“I’ll probably never live it down,” he told her, stroking her thick hair, rolling a tress on his finger.
“Why would you want to, Rob?” She giggled. “I think it’s a marvellous comment on your abilities.”
“I had to live up to expectations,” he said.
“Which, to judge by Melongel’s remarks, you certainly did.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” he said, worried.
“I know you did,” she said loyally, poking his nose gently.
He groaned. “I hope I did. Every hold seemed to have some sort of
long-term dispute that only I’ – he thumbed his chest – “could settle.” “Which I’m sure you did.” “How can you be so sure?”
“Because I know my Rob. Who sees with clear eyes,” she said, touching them one by one, which interrupted him when he was about to tell her about the sonata, “great perception’ – and she touched his temples – “and the clever tongue to speak truth and to the point.” She kissed him and that ended their conversation for some while.
If he went about his duties at the Hold yawning and only half there, knowing and kindly smiles absolved him.
During his verbal report to Melongel, he mentioned what Chochol had told him. “Hill holding, well kept. The holder’s named Chochol,” he said, leading up to the distressing news.
Melongel glanced up at the map and nodded as he identified the place.
“He’s given hospitality to holdless fleeing from the High
Reaches.”
“Oh?”
Robinton shifted uneasily, trying not to alarm unnecessarily and yet.to state his fears and reservations candidly. “I was three Turns at High Reaches, you know, and I have great respect for Lord Faroguy, but the last time I saw him – at Benden Hold, for Lord Raid’s confirmation – he looked very ill.”
Melongel nodded, confirming that opinion. “Hmm. I noticed.”
“Well, it seems that Lord Faroguy may be dead and we simply haven’t been told.”
Melongel regarded him with shock. “How could that be?”
“I don’t know, but Chochol thought it possible because he has sheltered several holdless folk – women and children mostly, returning to their relatives’ holdings here in Tillek.”