Recognition

Writers: Estelle
Date Posted: 31st October 2021

Characters: Lorican
Description: Lorican visits the Smith Hall for an interview
Location: Elsewhere on Pern
Date: month 11, day 24 of Turn 10
Notes: Mentioned: Lusilk, Brennault

***

The message had come a sevenday before, brought by a runner with the
seal of the Smith Hall. It requested Journeyman Lorican to present
himself at the Hall at the appointed time, regarding his recent
application for promotion.

After all the events of the past Turn, Lorican would not have thought
anything less that an imminent threat to his life could have made him
jittery, but he'd been wrong. He'd done his best to hide it, without
much success where Lusilk was concerned. The days had passed like Turns,
while he thought over all that might happen, the questions he might be
asked, the possible outcomes.

**Not everyone succeeds at their first attempt,** he'd told himself,
cautioning against disappointment. Besides, the last communication he'd
had from the Masters had been a rebuke for his indiscretion at the Weyr.
He couldn't expect that to have been forgotten so soon.

The designs and pieces he'd made had been sent to the Hall ahead of time
along with his request. He brought only himself and his empty tool bag
to bring them back, accepted or otherwise.

The blue dragon had left Sunstone Seahold through sheets of rain, but
emerged into dry, chilly air in the foothills of the mountains near
Garnet Valley. Lorican peered down at his childhood home, wondering how
his uncle was faring. They didn't have time to stop, though, and the
dragon glided down, following the road along the cliffs to the Smith Hall.

When they'd landed, he thanked the dragonrider and was surprised to get
a grin and a 'good luck'. He wasn't sure if the older man knew his
errand, or if he'd brought enough anxious journeymen back to the Hall
that he'd guessed. The blue leapt into the air, heading for a sunny spot
on the cliffs, and Lorican turned towards the Hall.

To his relief, he saw a familiar face waiting in the main entrance and
hurried over to meet him. "Master Trevyl!"

"Lorican, welcome back to the Hall." The Master Metalsmith raised a hand
in greeting. He was a sturdy, dark-skinned man in late middle age, his
curly grey hair thinning on top. Lorican still remembered him as the
stern, but kindly master whose classes he'd loved the most, who'd taught
the craft of metalwork to a lonely and still grieving apprentice.

"Thank you, Master." He searched the older man's face for clues, but saw
nothing but the usual glint of humour in his eyes behind the impassive
expression.

"Come inside. We're assembling in the Masters' meeting hall, but you're
early so there's time yet. Will you take any hot klah after your journey?"

"Yes, thank you." Lorican took off the damp outer jacket he'd been lent
for the journey and brushed imaginary dust from his best tunic. He
wouldn't have thought he could choke down a drop, but the familiar
atmosphere of the Hall - the smell of charcoal dust and hot metal and
ink, the faint clinking of hammers from the big workshop where the
apprentices took their classes - was reassuring.

He followed Master Trevyl to the meeting hall, a room he'd only glimpsed
before, as an apprentice running messages or on cleaning duty. A long
table was surrounded by elaborately carved, well-cushioned chairs, and
on it his work was laid out: copies of parts he'd made for the
technicians at the Weyrhold and the warning bell to protect Lusilk's
quarters, the Lady Holder's pendant and Brennault's sword, gleaming on a
dark red velvet cloth.

"The Masters have already examined your pieces, but they'll no doubt
have questions," Trevyl explained as he poured the klah. "About the
work, but also on other subjects of which a Master must have a good
knowledge, and on your past experience in your postings."

Lorican nodded, his throat suddenly dry. He thought of the smithy that
had burned down at Rocky Bay. Not his fault, but it could well be
another black mark against him.

The Master smiled. "Trust in your skill, Lorican. You'd not have got
this far if you didn't have a chance." He handed over the steaming mug.
"Tell me, how are you finding life at Sunstone? You must be finding your
experience at Rocky Bay useful."

"Yes, there's a great deal of work for the seacrafters. Though on a
bigger scale, with the ocean-going ships and big traders as well as the
fisher craft. There's work from the Hold, too, everything from pots and
pans for the kitchens to decorative work for the high-born."

"I thought it'd suit you. A pity about the Weyrhold, but..." Trevyl
frowned. "Let's just say that there were other factors in that decision
besides your, ah, entanglements at Dolphin Cove Weyr. Speaking of which,
I hear congratulations are in order."

"Oh - yes. My marriage." Lorican flushed. "We're very happy. Lusilk's
expecting our first child."

The older man's lips quirked. "You don't hang about, do you, lad? Then
congratulations, again."

"Actually, I'd meant to speak about it while I was here." He cleared his
throat. "I wanted to ask that if anything should happen to me, my family
will have the protection of the Smith Hall should they need it. Lusilk
has a young son, five Turns old. I treat him like my own, but I wanted
to be sure..."

"Naturally. I'll have a word with the Hallmaster afterwards, see if
there are any formalities required, but I can't see any difficulty. And
the same goes for the little one at the Weyr. If he should ever show an
aptitude for the Craft, we can find a place for him."

"Thank you." Lorican's colour deepened. "I understand the Weyr will
provide for him, but I'll let them know all the same."

"Good. Set your mind at rest on that score, at least." Trevyl clapped
him on the back and turned as the door opened and the other Masters
began to file in. "You have other matters to concentrate on for now."

***

Lorican sat on a bench outside the room where he'd just spent the past
few hours. He was almost too exhausted to be nervous any more, though
his mind kept on returning to the answers he'd given to the Master's
questioning, which had skipped back and forth from details of his work
to the training of apprentices and the running of a Hold smithy. What
rules he would impose for safety in the forge, what he'd tell a new
apprentice on his first day, what would he look for to stamp a new
plough frame as acceptable for sale, what texts he'd consulted in
designing his bell alarm...

He'd lost track of time since he'd at last been dismissed, and couldn't
tell if it had been a long wait or not. He wasn't sure if that was a
good or bad sign.

He thought about his family, and what it might mean if he was
successful. For a long time he'd thought he would take advantage of the
rank to request a transfer back to Dolphin Cove, but that was no longer
an option. Remembering what Master Trevyl had said about 'other factors'
in the decision to post him to Sunstone, he wondered if he'd have a
choice at all. Perhaps it was all irrelevant, he'd fail and be asked to
try again in a few Turns. For now, at least, Lusilk couldn't travel and
neither could he.

There was a click as the door to the meeting hall opened and the Masters
emerged. Most of their expressions were impassive, revealing nothing of
their decision. Lorican stood, his palms suddenly damp. All the reasons
in the world for wanting this promotion aside - for his family, for the
children - he deeply wanted the recognition of his Craft, more than he'd
ever known through all the Turns of thinking he'd live out his life as a
journeyman at an obscure fishing hold.

The Hallmaster nodded to Master Trevyl, who stepped forward, as stern as
the day twenty-five Turns before, when he'd first addressed Lorican's
apprentice class. There was a long pause, and then his face cracked into
a wide grin.

"We'll make this formal at dinner tonight, when you walk the tables and
receive your new knots, but there's no sense in making you wait any
longer." He held out a hand. "Congratulations, Master Lorican."

Last updated on the February 6th 2022

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