“Can’t you find us some, Robinton, in your travels?” Master Gennell asked. “To be sure, your mother was unusually dedicated, but here’s Halanna still singing and I understand that Maizella does too. Find me some new females, will you?”
“You may be sure I’ll look,” Robinton replied fervently.
Anything to bring back the twinkle in his Master’s eyes.
And he did look, listening to many hopeful girls as well as boys
and trying to interest the better voices in coming to the Harper Hall to be trained.
Robinton attained his Mastery the following Turn and continued to be sent by Master Gennell to handle difficult Holders, substitute for ailing harpers or to attend Gathers in distant holds. He was also requested as an arbiter in Hold and Hall. When he could, he drummed to Benden Weyr and asked for F’lon’s assistance – and listened to the dragonrider talking about his son, Fallamon, who was being fostered by Manora, the dignified weyr girl Robinton had noticed when S’loner and Maidir died. It was no surprise to Robinton to learn that, three Turns after Fallarnon’s birth, she gave F’lon a second son: Famanoran.
F’lon had two worries. The first, and more important, was that the lazy Nemorth would never get off her couch in the queen’s weyr for another mating flight so that he could become Weyrleader in place of the four-man leadership of C’vrel, C’rob, M’ridin and M’odon. The second was that no one would take him seriously about the threat posed by the “upstart Lord Holder Fax’.
Jora seemed to favour C’vrel, which further infuriated F’lon.
“Ever since S’loner took Lord Maidir between, C’vrel’s been afraid to “annoy” the Lord Holders. I can understand him treading quietly around Raid – and there’s another hide-bound idiot …” He glared at Robinton when the harper made a mild protest. “Well, he is. Does everything the way his father did … only Maidir was not only far more tolerant but also fairer-minded. He does send a scrupulous tithe to the Weyr, for which we are all grateful.” F’lon
grimaced. “I hate being beholden to the man!”
“It is his duty,” Robinton said mildly.
F’lon scowled. “Well, we’ll teach him his duty when I’ve flown Nemorth.” Now his grimace was darker. “I dread it, I do, Rob. Jora’s a fat slug. We oversee what Nemorth eats so she’ll be able to climb to a decent height for her flight… but she has to be bullied into the air. Jora!” He raised his hands skyward in disgust and frustration.
“Imagine having a Weyrwoman who’s afraid of heights!”
“I’ve often wondered how that happened,” Robinton murmured.
F’lon snorted. “My father fancied her over the other candidates.
There were only four, so low has the Weyr sunk in the estimation of the people of Pern it is pledged to protect.”
That made Robinton sit up. “The Red Star’s returning …”
“No.” F’lon pushed that notion away with one hand. “Not yet. For
which I am grateful. Not for another three decades, by my reckoning.” “You’ll be an old rider by then.”
“I’ll have two sons to take over for me, should I happen to fail…” F’lon showed his white teeth in a challenging grin. Then his expression turned grim again. “They’ll know what the Weyr stands for. They’ll know – from me-‘ he declared, prodding his chest, “what dragonriders are meant to do.”
“What’s the latest on Fax?” Robinton would never dignify the man with his assumed title. As it was, there never had been a Council of Lord Holders, CraftMasters and the Weyr to confirm his holding at High Reaches, usurping Bargen, if the young Lord Holder still lived.
“Oh, he’s busy.” F’lon’s grin turned wickedly malicious. “Still can’t get any male issue, and he’s ploughing any pretty girl he can find. Isn’t safe to be female in High Reaches any longer. And his duelling? Ha!” He raised both hands again. “He’s got a grand way to rid himself of any who’d oppose him. He insults a man to the point of a fight… and he always wins. Then he puts those oafs and dimwits of his in any prosperous hold… and continues to encroach
whenever he can.”