While such brutality seemed to be an isolated incident, harpers everywhere were warned to be on their guard and to travel with traders or other known-to-be-friendly groups.
Master Gennell, who suffered badly now from joint-ail, continued to send Robinton as his representative – and as another set of “eyes and ears’. This morning, when Gennell sent an apprentice to ask Robinton to join him in his office, Robinton registered a mild and humorous complaint.
“So where can you send me this time, Master? I do believe that I’ve met every Lord Holder, most of the minor ones, and been in every Crafthold on the continent. What place can I have missed on my travels for you?”
“Oh, I’ve found one,” Gennell replied with a smile, gesturing for Robinton to be seated. “Not that you haven’t been at Telgar often enough, but there’s to be a big Gather and Lord Tarathel has invited Fax.”
“What?”
“I thought that would get your attention. Tarathel means to have a chat with the man. He’s annoyed over certain problems on his borders with Fax.”
“I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Nip tells me that Fax is planning something. He can’t figure out what, but Fax is far too eager to attend and has been drilling his men…
“In what?”
“Parades. And wrestling. With daggers.”
“How are you with a dagger, Rob?”
“I’ve pinned Shonagar with my blade at his throat,” the young Master said.
“Oh, really?” Gennell’s eyebrows raised high in surprise. “That’s good. But … you’re to keep your dagger in its sheath. I’ve more
use for you than being pincushion to one of Fax’s louts.”
“Oh?”
Gennell shifted in his chair, clasping his stiff, knotted fingers across his increasing paunch. He tilted his head to one side, observing Robinton for such a long moment that, in spite of himself, Robinton shifted at such scrutiny.
“I’ve had a purpose in sending you here and there, to every major Hold and Hall on pern.”
“Really!” With great difficulty, Robinton kept curiosity out of his response. But it was hard.
“Yes, I’m growing old, Rob, and I’ve to look for a replacement.
Of course all the MasterHarpers vote as their conscience dictates, but I’ve made my wish clear. You!”
Robinton stared at his old friend. He hadn’t expected that.
“You’ll be around a long time yet, Gennell,” he said with a laugh which died when he saw the expression on Gennell’s face.
“No, I think not,” the MasterHarper said. “What with this joint-ail and no Betrice to fuss’ – Gennell smiled fondly at the thought of his spouse – “the heart’s gone out of me. I may call for the
election and spend my remaining time on a warm beach in Ista.” “Now, wait a minute, Gennell, I’m much too young …
“The Hall must have someone young and vigorous as MasterHarper, Rob.” Gennell’s manner turned resolute, as well as anxious. “Now more than ever before. I can’t leave the CraftHall without someone who appreciates the threat Fax poses to the entire world. I must know that other holds will not suffer the same future that High Reaches and now Crom are facing: illiteracy and oppression.” Watching intently, Robinton could see clearly how age and infirmity were hampering the once brisk and energetic MasterHarper. “And someone,” Gennell continued, pointing a gnarled forefinger at the seated harper, “who believes, as I do, that Thread will return to menace the land.” He wearily brushed back
thinning hair. “I don’t know what the Weyr is going to do, but it is our beholden duty as harpers to support Benden in any way we can.
Your going there as a child, and as a journeyman, has given you an admirable contact in F’lon. He’s making himself a shade unpopular with some of the Lord Holders. If you could give him some advice …”
“Which F’lon’s not likely to take from anyone. Including me,” Robinton said sourly.
“I think you underestimate your influence on him, Rob,” Gennell said; he sank heavily into his chair again, grimacing at the pain.
“And I think you’ve more influence throughout the land now than you may realize. Are you still able to talk to dragons?”
Robinton nodded. “Simanith, at any rate. I suspect that’s only because of F’lon. Not that our conversations are anything to write ballads about.”