Once Menolly and the journeymen had left them, Robinton turned again to Silvina, showing all the anxiety and concern he had kept hidden.

“Now, don’t you worry, Robinton!” Silvina said, patting him on the arm. “He’s had a frightful knock on his skull, but I could feel no crack. Those scrapes on chin and cheek’ll mend. He’ll be stiff and sore from the bruising, that’s certain. If you’d only asked me,” and Silvina’s manner indicated that she’d have her say any road, “I’d have said there were much better uses for Piemur than message drumming. He’s been a changed lad since he went to the heights. Not a peep of complaint out of him, but it’s as if he wouldn’t speak for fear of saying something that was the least bit out of line. And then Dirzan has the nerve to say that Piemur babbled drum messages!”

They were at the Harper’s quarters now, and Silvina waited until they were within before she had her final words. “And don’t I know what he’d never whispered!”

“And what would that be?” Robinton eyed her with wry amusement.

“That he brought the masters’ stones down from the mine, and something else happened that day to keep him overnight, which I haven’t discovered as yet,” she added with a sigh of regret as she seated herself.

Robinton laughed then, rubbing his fingers gently on her cheek before he came around the table and poured wine, looking at her as he suspended the wine skin above a second glass. She nodded agreement. She needed the wine after the excitement and worry over Piemur, and with the little bronze watching the boy, she didn’t need to hurry back.

“The whole accident is my fault,” said the Harper after a long sip of wine. He seated himself heavily. “Piemur is clever, and he can keep his tongue still. Too still for his own good health, I see now. He hasn’t hinted of any trouble in the drumheights to either Menolly or Sebell…”

“They’d be the last he’d tell, except for yourself, of course.” Silvina gave a snort. “I only knew about it after the Impression at Benden. The others…” and Silvina wrinkled her nose in remembered distaste, “…treated his new clothes. I came upon him washing them, or I’d never have known either.” She chuckled with such malice the Harper had no trouble following her thought.

“They did it while he was at Igen Hold, not knowing about the Impression?” He joined in her laughter, and Silvina knew that she’d restored his perspective of the unfortunate affair.

“And to think that I placed him in the drumheights to safeguard him! You’re sure he’s sustained no lasting hurt?”

“As sure as I can be without Master Oldive to confirm it.” Silvina spoke tartly for Master Oldive’s attendance on that worthless Lord of Nabol when he was urgently needed in the Hall aggravated her intensely.

“Yes, Meron!” The Master Harper sighed again, one corner of his expressive mouth twitching with irritation and an inner perplexity.

“The man’s dying. Not all of Master Oldive’s skill can save him. And why bother with Meron? He’s better dead after all the harm he’s done. When I think that Brekke’s queen might still be alive today…”

“It’s his dying that will cause even more trouble, Silvina.”

“How?”

“We can no more have Nabol Hold in contention than we can Ruatha Hold—”

“But Nabol has a dozen heirs of full blood—”

“Meron won’t name his successor!”

“Oh.” Silvina’s exclamation of startled comprehension was followed quickly by a second of utter disgust. “What more could you expect of that man? But surely steps can be taken. I doubt that Master Oldive would scruple against…”

Master Robinton held up his hand. “Nabol has been cursed with Holders either too ambitious, too selfish, or too incompetent to render it in any way prosperous…”

“To be sure, it’s not the best of Holds, stuck in the mountains, cold, damp, harsh.”

“Quite right. So there’s little sense in forcing combat on the full-Blooded heirs when one might just end up with another unsympathetic and uncooperative Lord.”

Silvina narrowed her eyes in thought. “I make it nine or ten full-Blooded close male heirs. Those daughters of Meron’s are too young to be married, and none of them will ever be pretty, taking after their sire as they all seem to have had the misfortune to do. Which of those nine—”

“Ten…”

“Which would get the most support from the small holders and crafthalls? And how, pray tell, does Piemur fit into…ah, but, of course.” A smile smoothed Silvina’s frown, and she raised her glass to toast the Harper’s ingenuity. “He did well then at Igen Hold?”

“Indeed he did, though Igen’s a loyal group under any circumstances.”

Silvina caught his slight emphasis on the word “loyal,” and scrutinized his thoughtful face. “Why ‘loyal’? And to whom? Surely there’s no more disloyalty to Benden?”

Robinton gave a quick negative shake of his head. “Several disquieting rumors have come to my notice. The most worrying, the fact that Nabol abounds with fire lizards…”

“Nabol has no shoreline and scarcely any friends in Holds that do acquire what fire lizards are found.”

Robinton agreed. “They have also been ordering, and paying for, large quantities of fine cloth, wines, the delicacies of Nerat, Tillek and Keroon, not to mention every sort of mongery from the Smithcrafthall that can be bought or bartered, quantities and qualities enough to garb, feed and supply amply every holder, cot and hold in Nabol…and don’t!”

“The Oldtimers!” Silvina emphasized that guess with a snap of her fingers. “T’kul and Meron were always two cuts from the same rib.”

“What I cannot figure out is what besides fire lizards the association gains Meron…”

“You can’t?” Silvina was frankly skeptical. “Spite! Malice! Scoring off Benden!”

Robinton reflected on that opinion, turning his wine glass idly by the stem. “I’d like to know…”

“Yes, you would!” Silvina grinned at him, tolerance for his foibles as well as affection in her glance. “You and Piemur are paired in that respect. He has the same insatiable urge to know, and he’s a dab hand at finding out, too. Is that why you want his head mended? You’re sending him up to Candler at Nabol Hold?”

“No…” and the Harper drawled the word, pulling at his lower lip. “No, not directly to Nabol Hold. Meron might recognize him: the man’s never been a fool, just perverted in principle.”

“Just?” Silvina was disgusted.

“I’d like to know what’s going on there.”

“Today is not likely to be the last time Meron summons Master Oldive…” she said, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

Robinton brushed aside the notion. “I hear that a Gather’s been scheduled at Nabol on the same sevenday as Lord Groghe’s…”

“Isn’t that just like Meron.”

“Consequently, no one would expect Hall harpers to be in attendance,” and Robinton ended his sentence on an upswing of tone, eyeing Silvina hopefully.

“The boy’ll be fit enough for a Gather, and undoubtedly it’s kinder to send him away from the Hall on that particular day. Tilgin’s come along amazingly.”

“Could he do aught else?” asked Robinton with real humor in his voice, “with both Shonagar and Domick spending every waking moment with him?”