As Robinton was on his way out of the courtyard on the new young Ruathan runner-beast he had used his savings to purchase, a runner came trotting in: a man who was very familiar to him.
“Ah, you, wait a minute …” And Robinton reined his mount about. The runner had dutifully halted and turned to face him. “I thought it was you.”
The man smiled briefly. “I’ve fooled many.”
“Ah, but I’m a harper and as trained to notice details as you are.
Did you find Mallan?” he asked.
Hope died as the man’s face drained of any expression. He shook his head. “He died in the mines. That much I discovered.” Then his expression altered to a fierce hatred. “I’ll get Fax yet.”
“If you don’t, I will.” And with that promise, Robinton rode out of the courtyard.
Though he was welcomed wherever he went on the Keroon Plains, he occasionally felt the resistance to some of the traditional Teaching Ballads and did his best to discuss the concepts with the adults in the hold, reminding them of the Charter’s provisions.
Often his evenings were spent in copying out that document so that it would be available to counteract the question of “lying’. He did feel that he got his message across to the doubters.
Several times he was warned by his host that “yon feller’s not so friendly’ and, if asked to play in the evening, Robinton carefully restricted his selections to unremarkable love songs or dance tunes.
Even so, he sometimes had to ignore sullen looks and manners.
One evening, at Red Cliff Hold, he was astonished when the runner he had spoken to as he left Harper Hall arrived, bearing a CraftHall reply for the holder. Robinton waited for a chance to speak to him and, by asking him to take a letter directed to his mother at the Harper Hall, managed a few private words with him.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Robinton said, flourishing the letter as if that was what was under discussion.
“How do you think Master Gennell knows where not to send harpers?” the runner said. “Station Masters are the best ones to ask, by the way, should you be in doubt.” Taking the letter from Robinton, he altered his tone and spoke more loudly. “Wal, now, Harper, I’ll be sure to take good care a’ this “un fer ye.”
When Robinton had finished his contract in Keroon, Master Gennell sent him on to Nerat – to a settlement which was, happily, devoted to the old ways. Robinton was able to relax his vigilance and do a proper job of instructing the young in their traditional songs and ballads. He was relieved to see that dragonriders often visited this area, collecting fresh fish for the Weyr. He always sent back greetings to F’lon and tried to speak to the dragons. They would look at him, surprised, but they never responded.
He returned in the spring to the Harper Hall. One look at his mother had him in a panic. She was nothing but skin and bones, all the beauty leached out of her face, with dry hair and a hard cough constantly racking her. She leaned on Petiron to walk even the shortest distance.
“You’re not all right, Mother, not at all,” Robinton said, glaring at Petiron who nodded, his expression doleful and worried.
“That’s why you’re home, Rob,” Ginia said when he stormed into the Healer Hall in search of her.
He stood stock-still. “Why I’m home?” He could not seem to comprehend what her words implied.
She pressed his arm, her face full of regret and pity. “Yes, I know she’s wanted you here. She doesn’t have much time left.”
“But …” Robinton clenched his fists at his sides. “I’ve only just lost Kasia!”
“I know, Rob dear, I know.” He could see the tears in her eyes.
“She’s my dearest friend. All I can do is be sure she feels no pain.”
He nodded acceptance of that, feeling the coldness of grief yet
to come spreading throughout his body.
“You must help her. And Petiron.” “Her, yes. Petiron …”
“He has lived for her, Robinton.”
And I never had the chance to live for my Kasia, Robinton thought bitterly.