Dragonquest

I’ll concentrate on positive, happy thoughts, Robinton mused to himself, coining Fandarel’s phrase. “You’ll be staying on, N’ton?”

The young man gri

“I, too,” Robinton said in farewell, as he slid down the dragon’s shoulder. “My thanks to you, Lioth, for a smooth journey.”

The Harper has only to ask.

Startled, Robinton glanced up at N’ton, but the young man’s head was turned toward a party of brightly garbed young women who were walking up from the pasture.

Robinton looked at Lioth, whose opalescent eye gleamed at him an instant. Then the dragon spread his great wings. Hastily Robinton backed away, still not positive he’d heard the dragon. Yet there was no other explanation. Well, this day was certainly unfolding surprises!

“Sir?” inquired Brudegan respectfully.

“Ah, yes, lads.” He gri

You’ve heard the drum messages. Utilize them. Brudegan, take Sebell with you, it’s his first public performance. No, Sebell, you’d not be with us today if I’d no faith in your abilities. Talmor, watch that temper of yours. Tagetarl, wait until after the banquet to charm the girls. Remember, you’ll be a full Harper too soon to jeopardize a good Holding. All of you, mind the distilled wines.”

He left them so advised and went up the busy ramp into the Great Court, smiling and bowing to those he knew among the many Holders, Craftsmen and ladies passing to and fro.

Larad, Lord of Telgar Hold, resplendent in dark yellow, and the bridegroom Asgenar, Lord of Lemos, in a brilliant midnight blue, stood by the great metal doors to the Hold’s Main Hall. The women of Telgar were in white with the exception of Larad’s half-sister, Famira, the bride. Her blond hair streamed to the hem of her traditional wedding dress of graduated shades of red.

Robinton stood for a moment to one side of the gate into the Court, slightly in the shadow of the right-hand tower, sca

Masterminer Nigot was deep in talk with Masterta

Bronzes, blues – ah, and five golden queens – came to rest briefly. Discharging their passengers, most of them leaped skyward again, toward the fire ridges above the Hold.

Robinton made his way hastily to his host then, before the newest arrivals swarmed up the ramp to the Great Court.

There was a hearty cheerfulness about Lord Larad’s greeting that masked a deep i

“Well come, Master Harper, we all look forward to your entertaining songs,” Lord Larad said, according the Harper a deep bow.

“We shall play in tune with the times and the occasion, Lord Larad,” Robinton replied, gri

The whoosh of great wings drew their eyes upward. The dragons flew across the sun, briefly shadowing the Court. All talk died for a moment, then renewed more loudly than before.

Robinton moved on, greeting Lord Larad’s first lady and true love, for he had no others besides her. The young Lord of Telgar, at least, was constant.

“Lord Asgenar, my felicitations. Lady Famira, may I wish you all happiness, to have and to hold.”

The girl blushed prettily, glancing shyly at Lord Asgenar. Her eyes were as blue as her half-brother’s. She had her hand on Asgenar’s arm, having known him a long time. Larad and Asgenar had been fosterlings at the Hold of Lord Corman of Keroon, though Larad had been elected earlier to his dignities than Asgenar. There’d be no problem with this wedding, although it remained for the Conclave of Lord Holders to ratify it, since the progeny of this marriage might one day Hold either Telgar or Lemos. A man cast his seed widely if he was a Lord Holder. He had many sons in the hope that one male of his Blood would train up strong enough to be acceptable to the Conclave, when the question of Succession arose. Not that that ancient custom was as scrupulously observed as it had been. The wise Lord extended fosterage to the Blooded children of other Lords, to gain support in Conclave as well as to insure his own progeny being well-fostered.

Robinton stepped quickly among the guests. To hear what he could, enter a conversation with an amusing story, climax another with a deft phrase. He helped himself to a handful of finger-sized meatrolls from the long tables set up near the kitchen entrance. He scooped up a mug of cider. They’d not sit to table until sunset. First the Lord Holders and the major Small Holders would have their Conclave. (He hoped that Chad had found a way for him to “attend” that meeting for he’d a notion that the discussion wouldn’t be limited to the Bloodlines of Telgar and Lemos Holds.)

So he wandered, every perception tuned high, every nuance, shrug, laugh, gesture and frown weighed and measured. He observed the groupings, who shifted between the lines of region, craft and rank. When he realized he had seen nothing of the Mastersmith Fandarel or his Craft-second, Terry, or, indeed, any smithcrafters, he began to wonder. Had Fandarel’s distance-writer been installed? He took a look down the side of the Hold and could see no posts as had been described to him. He chewed thoughtfully at a rough spot on his lower lip.

Voices and laughter seemed to have a strident edge. From his detached vantage point, he surveyed the Great Court, now so full it appeared as a moving carpet of solid bodies, here and there a tight knot of bent heads. As if – as if everyone were determined to enjoy themselves, frantically grasping pleasure . . .

Dragons trumpeted from the heights. Robinton gri