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hand firmly, and then he was off down the hills on the
High Reaches side, disappearing into the falling dusk.
Robinton and two men escorted the thin, weary Master and his spouse to the
next hold, where he stayed to teach while they went forward as fast as they
could travel comfortably. Robinton thought of Lotricia, a shadow of her once
plump and generous self, and the plates of food she had brought him and
Mallan, and hated Fax more than ever - if that was possible.
Returning to Tillek Hold was almost more than he could bear. He hadn't minded
the long journeys between holds, the teaching, even the focus of his thoughts
- Kasia's beautiful sea-green eyes, her laugh, her body, the peace she had
given him. But seeing the Hold again in the bright afternoon light,
remembering with what hopes he had come back the previous Turn, he almost
turned his runner aside.
When he came to give Melongel his formal report, the Lord
Holder put it to one side.
"I saw your face when you came back ... brother," he said, "and it decided
me. Just being here in Tillek is making it worse, not helping.
I'm releasing you from our contract. Master Gennell agrees that you should
return to the Harper Hall where you won't always be reminded ... of Kasia."
Numbed by the suddenness of that decision and yet grateful that it had been
made for him, Robinton nodded. Melongel rose; so did
Robinton.
"There is always room for... our brother... here at Tillek Hold, any time
you care to claim it," the Lord Holder said formally and held out his hand.
"I think Master Gennell wants you to bring that good Ruathan runner back with
you." He gave a little smile. "Young
Groghe's to go home too. You can keep each other company. He'll make a good
Lord Holder when he inherits."
"He'll be wary of Fax, too."
Melongel's eyebrows rose and his eyes caught Robinton's. "Yes, he will, and
that's all to the good."
Two mornings later, having allowed his runner a good rest,
Robinton rode south with Groghe, retracing their original route and spending
two days with Sucho, Tortole and their family. He had
Saday's bowl with him, and showed her how much he treasured it.
The wall was up, and many of the capping slabs were athwart its expanse rather
than on one side or the other. To Robinton this meant that at least the two
holders had resolved their differences. A
small satisfaction to take back with him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was easier to be in the Harper Hall again, surrounded by the hopes of the
new young apprentices, immersed in his studies for his
Mastery, which was what Master Gennell suggested he apply himself to for the
rest of the summer.
But it was still a shock when Robinton heard the unmistakable music of his
sonata pouring out of the open windows of the rehearsal hall.
How dared they? How had they got the music? He had kept his copy, but he had
never ... Then he remembered that he had given his mother a copy when she'd
come for their espousal. But surely she wouldn't ...
He tore out of his room, pounding down the stairs to the rehearsal hall,
trying with the noise of his boots to drown out the music he had so lovingly
created for his Kasia. He flung open the door, startling the
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instrumentalists, his mother and Petiron.
"How dare you play that?" And he advanced on his mother as if he would rip the
harp from her lap.
"How dare you?" Petiron demanded, infuriated by the interruption.
"It's my music. No one plays it without my permission."
"Robie ..." his mother began, rising to her feet and starting to come towards
him. She stopped abruptly when he recoiled, holding his hands out in protest
as much against the sympathy and pity in her face as against any contact. He
almost hated her. How could she have let Petiron see his music, the sonata he
had composed for
Kasia, only for her? "I loved Kasia, too, Robinton. I'm playing it for her.
Every time the Kasia Sonata is played, her memory will be invoked. She lives
on in this beautiful music; she will be remembered with it. You must allow
her that! You need to allow yourself that."
He just looked at her, feeling the anger drain away under her stern gaze. The
other players remained so motionless that he scarcely noted their presence.
Then his father cleared his throat. "The sonata is the best thing you've ever
written," Petiron said, without a trace of condescension in his voice.
Robinton turned slowly to look at the MasterComposer.
"It is," he said, and, turning on his heel, he left the room.
He put wadding in his ears when he went back to his room so that he wouldn't
have to hear the music. But some of it penetrated and towards the end of the
rehearsal - which was almost a straight run-through, given the quality of the
musicians performing - he took the wadding out. Listening to the rondo and
the finale, he let the tears run unheeded down his face.
Yes, it was the best piece of music he had written. And listening to it,
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