'Oh, nothing. They often roar... at the sunset, at a flock of passing wherries, at mealtimes.' F'lar smiled amiably at Fax. His tablemate, however, was not so sanguine and gave a squeak.
'Mealtimes? Have they not been fed?'
'Oh, yes, five days ago.'
'Oh. Five... days ago? And are they hungry... now?' Her voice trailed into a whisper of fear, and her eyes grew round.
'In a few days,' F'lar assured her. Robinton watched him scan the Hall with a good appearance of detached amusement. 'You mount a guard?' he asked Fax casually.
'Double at Ruatha Hold,' Fax replied in a right, hard voice.
'Here?' F'lar all but laughed, gesturing around the sadly unkempt chamber.
'Here!' Fax changed the subject with a roar. 'Food!'
Five drudges staggered in under the weight of the roast herd-beast.
The aroma that reached Robinton's nostrils had not improved in the short while since he had left the kitchen courtyard.
The odour of singed bone was most prevalent. And there was the Warder, sharpening his tools for carving.
Robinton was not the only one to see Lady Gemma catch her breath, her hands curling tightly around the armrests.
The drudges returned with wooden trays of bread; burned crusts had been scraped and cut from the loaves. As other trays were borne in by the drudges and passed before Lady Gemma, Robinton could see her expression turning to unmistakable nausea. Then he saw her convulsive clutch at the armrest and realized that the food was not the principal problem. He saw F'lar lean towards her to say something, but she stopped him with an imperceptible shake of her head, closing her eyes and trying to mask the shudder that ran down her body.
The poor woman looked to be going into labour, Robinton thought.
The Warder, with shaking hands, was now presenting Fax with a plate of the sliced meats ... the more edible- looking portions.
'You call this food? You call this food?' Fax bellowed. More crawlers were shaken from their webs as the sound of his voice shattered fragile strands. 'Slop. Slop.' And he threw the plate at the Warder.
'It's all we had on such short notice,' the Warder squealed, bloody juices streaking down his cheeks. Fax threw his goblet at him, and the wine went streaming down the man's chest. The steaming dish of roots followed; the Warder yelped in pain as the hot liquid splashed over him.
'My Lord, my Lord, had I but known!'
Robinton felt a repeat of the powerful ripple, and thought it was triumphant.
'Obviously, Ruatha cannot support the visit of its Lord.' F'lar's voice rang out. 'You must renounce it.'
Robinton stared at the dragonrider. Everyone else did, too. The MasterHarper also caught the sudden blinking of F'lar's eyes, as if the bronze rider had astonished himself as well. But F'lar straightened his shoulders and regarded Fax in the silence that fell over the Hall, broken only by the splat of crawlers and the drip of the root liquid from the Warder's shoulders to the rushes on the floor. The grating of Fax's boot heel was clearly audible as he swung slowly around to face the bronze rider. From his vantage point, Robinton could see F'nor rise with hand on dagger hilt. It was all he could do not to gesture for F'nor to stay seated, to take his hand off the knife.
'I did not hear you correctly?' Fax asked. His voice was expressionless, and Robinton was glad that the man's back was to him.
'You did mention, my Lord,' F'lar drawled with a good command of himself, Robinton noted with almost paternal pride, 'that if any of your Holds could not support itself and the visit of its rightful overlord, you would renounce it.'
Then, with admirable self-possession, the dragonrider – his eyes still on Fax – speared some vegetables from a serving dish and began to eat. F'nor, still on his feet, was glancing around the Hall as if he thought someone else had spoken, not F'lar. That was when Robinton realized that those odd ripples of power had not emanated from the dragonriders, or the dragons. But where had they come from?
Fax and F'lar stood, their gazes locked. Suddenly a groan escaped Lady Gemma. Fax glanced at her in irritation, his fist clenched and half-raised to strike her. But the contraction that rippled across her swollen belly was as obvious as her pain.
Fax began to laugh. He threw back his head, showing big stained teeth, and roared.
'Aye, renounce it in favour of her issue, if it is male ... and lives,' he crowed.
'Heard and witnessed!' F'lar snapped, jumping to his feet and pointing to his riders. They were on their feet in an instant.
'Heard and witnessed!' they responded in the traditional manner.
Robinton had seen the guards slip hands to their belts and did the same with his own hand when the dragonriders rose. But as there was no sign from Fax, who continued to howl with contemptuous laughter, they all relaxed and some even had half-grins of snide amusement.
The lady beside F'lar, Lady Tela, was obviously concerned about Lady Gemma, but clearly didn't know what to do. Someone had better help her, Robinton thought. She was in obvious pain and distress.
It was F'lar who acted, bending to assist her out of her chair. She grabbed his arm and murmured something, her lips turned away from Fax's eyes. F'lar's eyebrows rose, and Robinton saw him press her hands reassuringly. He wondered what they were saying.
F'lar beckoned to two of the Warder's men and pushed Lady Tela to Gemma's side.
'What do you need?' the bronze rider asked her, his voice carrying.
Fax snorted.
'Oh, oh ...' Her face was twisted with panic. 'Water, hot, clean. Cloths. And a birthing-woman. Oh, yes, we must have a birthing-woman.'
F'lar looked about the Hall, then signalled to the Warder. 'Have you one in this Hold?'
'Of course.' The Warder sounded affronted.
'Then send for her.'
The Warder caught Fax's nod and then kicked the drudge on the floor.
'You ... you! Whatever your name is, go get her from the Crafthold. You must know who she is.'
With a nimbleness probably developed from turns of avoiding kicks, the drudge moved with astonishing speed and scurried across the Hall and out of the door to the kitchen.
Fax came down to the platter of roast and began slicing meat, which he speared on the point of his knife and ate from the blade.
Occasionally he would glance up in the direction the women had taken and bark out a laugh. F'lar sauntered down to the carcass and, without waiting for a direct invitation, began to carve neat slices, beckoning his men over Those of Fax's men who were seated at the table waited, however, until Fax had eaten his fill.
The men standing on guard were not relieved, and the proximity to food became almost unendurable. Bad as the roast was, it was food, and Robinton's belly rumbled. He was also very thirsty, and his feet hurt. His whole body hurt, for that matter. He vowed not to get so unfit ever again. A MasterHarper ought to be ready for anything.
Clearly he was not.
The drudge returned rather more quickly than he had thought possible. She strode right through the main door, leading a woman at least slightly cleaner than herself, though almost as ancient. The birthing-woman stopped in the doorway, frozen by the sight of those in the Hall.
F'lar strode up to her and took her by the arm, leading her towards the steps.
'Go quickly, woman. Lady Gemma is before her time.' He was frowning with concern. The drudge caught the other arm and pulled the old woman past the guards and to the stairway.
F'lar stood watching until they disappeared into the upper level.
Then he made his way to the riders' table, where he spoke quietly to F'nor and the rider Robinton recognized as bronze Pianth's rider, K'net.
Robinton would have given anything to sit, or to have a piece of the trimmed bread which lay in a bowl two strides from him on the guards' table. He noticed that the other two guards were surreptitiously shifting their feet and easing their shoulders.
The waiting continued. Nothing could be heard from the upper level, but there were sounds of weeping and
