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 scufflings rising from the kitchen: no doubt the Warder rewarding the drudges for their efforts.
Then suddenly there was a screeching, and one of the women came running out of the upper hall and paused briefly at the top.
"She's dead ... dead ... dead ..." Her cry reverberated down the staircase and through the Hall, causing yet more crawlers to be loosened from their strands.
"Dead?" Fax whirled, watching the woman's hysterical progress down the stairs.
"Oh, dead, dead, poor Gemma. Oh, Lord Fax, we did all we could, but the journey ..." She ran to where Fax was sitting.
Casually, Fax slapped her and she fell sobbing in a heap at his feet.
Robinton saw F'lar reach for his dagger hilt. Women in the Weyr were rarely treated in such a harsh manner. It would definitely go against a dragonrider's grain. Robinton tightened his hands into fists, willing the bronze rider to relax.
The men were muttering, not all of them as happy to hear such news about their Lady as their Lord, who was decidedly pleased.
"The child lives," cried a voice from the top of the stairs, and there was the drudge who had gone for the birthing woman. "It is male." Her voice was rough with anger and, perhaps, hatred.
Robinton was astonished to recognize the two emotions. Fax was on his feet, kicking aside the weeping woman, scowling viciously at the drudge. "What are you saying, woman'?."
"The child lives. It is male," she repeated in a firm voice, belying her apparent age.
Incredulity and rage suffused Fax's face. The Warder's men stifled their cheers.
"Ruatha has a new lord," the astonishing drudge continued, making her way down the stairs.
The drag
ons roared.
The drudge's eyes appeared to be focused on Fax as she made her way down the stairs. Robinton was altogether astonished at her sudden, assertive behaviour, as well as the robust quality of her voice. She even seemed oblivious to the roar of the dragons outside.
She didn't see her danger, as Robinton certainly did, when Fax erupted into action, leaping across the intervening space, bellowing denials of her news. Before the drudge could realize his intent, his fist crashed across her face. She was swept off her feet and off the steps, and fell heavily to the stone floor where she lay motionless, a bundle of dirty rags.
"Hold, Fax!" F'lar cried as the Lord of the High Reaches lifted his foot to kick the unconscious body.
Robinton had started forward too, but caught himself before he inadvertently dropped out of disguise.
Fax whirled, his hand closing on his knife hilt.
"It was heard and witnessed, Fax," F'lar cautioned him, one hand outstretched, "by dragonmen. Stand by your sworn and witnessed oath!"
In spite of himself, Robinton shook his head at such a challenge, made to Fax of all people.
"Witnessed? By dragonmen?" cried Fax. He gave a derisive laugh, his eyes blazing with contempt, one sweeping gesture of scorn dismissing them all -just as he had dismissed the Lord Holders and Masters in the Hall at Nabol "Dragonwomen, you mean."
But he took a backward step as the dragonrider moved forward, knife in hand.
Dragonwomen?" F'lar queried, his voice dangerously soft.
Glowlight flickered off his circling blade as he advanced on Fax.
That's right, F'lar, Robinton thought, remembering another scene all too vividly. But this young man had his temper well in hand, unlike his father, and he had the same lean, powerful build the younger F'lon had possessed.
"Women! Parasites on Pern. The Weyr power is over! Over for good," roared Fax, leaping forward to land in a combat crouch.
Robinton spared a look at the others in the Hall. Fax's men were obviously looking forward to a good fight and the death of this unwary adversary. The dragonriders had spread out, circling, as if to keep the guards from interfering. Their expressions reflected confidence in the abilities of their wingleader, especially C'gan whose grinning face reassured Robinton.
Fax feinted, and F'lar neatly swayed away. They crouched again, facing each other across six feet of space, knife hands weaving, their free hands, spread-fingered, ready to grab.
Again Fax pressed the attack. F'lar allowed him to close, just near enough to dodge away with a back-handed swipe. Fabric tore and Fax snarled. He lunged immediately, faster on his feet than Robinton would have expected for such a bulky man. F'lar was forced again to dodge; this time Fax's knife scored across the dragonrider's jerkin.
Fax ploughed in again, trying to corner F'lar between the raised platform and the wall. Robinton caught his breath, hoping that neither would stumble over the unconscious drudge.
F'lar countered, ducking low under Fax's flailing arm and slashing obliquely across his side. Fax caught at him, yanking savagely, and F'lar was trapped against the other man's side, straining desperately with his left hand to keep the knife arm up. F'lar brought up his knee, at the same time making himself collapse. As Fax gasped from the blow to the groin, F'lar danced away; but Robinton could see blood welling up on his left shoulder.
Red with fury and wheezing from pain and shock, Fax straightened up and charged. F'lar was forced to sidestep quickly, putting the meat table between them and circling warily, flexing his shoulder to assess the damage.
Suddenly Fax seized up a handful of fatty scraps from the meat tray and hurled them at F'lar. The dragonrider ducked, and Fax closed the distance around the table with a rush. Robinton nearly cheered when F'lar instinctively swerved out of the way just as
Fax's flashing blade came within inches of his abdomen. At the same moment, the bronze rider's knife sliced down the outside of Fax's arm. Instantly the two pivoted to face each other again, but Fax's left arm hung limply at his side.
F'lar darted in, pressing his luck as Fax staggered. But the older man must not have been hurt as badly as F'lar assumed: the dragonrider suffered a terrific kick in the side as he tried to dodge under the feinting knife. Robinton's throat closed. Doubled with pain, F'lar rolled frantically away from his charging adversary. Fax lurched forward, trying to fall on him for a final thrust. F'lar somehow got to his feet, attempting to straighten up to meet Fax's stumbling charge. His movement took Fax by surprise. Fax overreached his mark and staggered off balance. F'lar brought his right hand over in a powerful thrust, his knife blade plunging deep into Fax's unprotected back.
Fax fell flat to the flagstones, the force of his descent dislodging the dagger so that an inch of the bloody blade re-emerged from the point of entry.
A thin wailing penetrated the silence. Robinton looked up to the top of the stairs, where a woman stood, cradling a swathed bundle in her arms.
"The new Lord Holder," Robinton murmured. The guards on either side of him regarded him with surprise.
Do I come forward as MasterHarper now? he wondered, looking about to see who would take charge. F'nor, C'gan and K'net strode forward, ready to ring F'lar in case any of the guards wished to retaliate.
F'lar, wiping his forehead on his sleeve, half-stumbled to the still-unconscious drudge. He gently turned her over and, even from where Robinton stood, he could see the terrible bruise from Fax's fist spreading across her filthy cheek.
"Do any of you care to contest the outcome of this duel?" F'nor challenged. His hand carefully remained at his side, but he stood as if ready to seize his dagger at the first sign of attack.
Something about the drudge – her thin face, the set of her eyes – caught Robinton's attention. F'lar gathered the limp body up in his arms, the clump of dirty hair dropping downward. As the bronze rider swung her around Robinton got a second good look at her face and something stirred in his memory.
He blinked. No, he had to be mistaken. They'd all died. Everyone with any trace of Ruathan Blood had been killed that day. The girl couldn't possibly ... incredibly ... be Lessa? And yet... Ruathan Blood had produced many dragonriders and a few Weyrwomen, too. They had strong minds, strong ... powers?
And Robinton blinked again. That was what he had felt pulsing through the Hall, what had caused the dragons to roar and F'lar to act so outrageously in challenging Fax. And it made sense to the MasterHarper. Very good sense. She was why Nip thought Ruatha was subtly rebelling against Fax. She was a full Ruathan, and they had always had strong women in the Bloodline. Strong enough to be Weyrwomen, especially now, at this crucial time for Pern.
It was all Robinton could do to restrain the shout of triumph that swelled within him. C'gan! He'd have to tell C'gan so that the blue rider could watch out for her at the Weyr, keep her from being manipulated by that other do-nothing, R'gul. They had to be sure that it was F'lar's dragon Mnementh who flew the new queen, so that F'lar would be Weyrleader. Of course, they'd know when the Red Star was framed by the Eye Rock in the Star Stones on Benden's rim, when the rising sun balanced on the Finger Rock at Solstice. Thread would be falling any time now. Maybe not this Turn, but in the next few, that warning sign would be obvious to all who witnessed it. As today's event had been witnessed. And, as MasterHarper, he should add his voice to those of the dragonriders.
His was the more important, even though he was not supposed to be here.
"You got here, I see." The voice was a soft whisper at his side.
"Nip, you'll frighten the heart out of me one of these days, appearing like that." Robinton leaned back against the wall, sighing with relief. "Where've you been?"
Nip pointed to the kitchen, and indeed, now that Robinton got a good whiff of the man, he recognized the odours of singed bone and stale food.
"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm hungry and there's -well, some bread ..." Robinton strode to the table and grabbed a slice in each hand, chewing vigorously.
"Wh
ere'd he take her?" Nip asked.
"Lessa."
"Lessa?"
Fortunately, Nip was so astonished that he had gasped out the name in a startled whisper.
"Ssshhh! Only person I know of who could do what she did today ..." And Robinton grinned.
"What about F'lar? That was a grand fight he fought. Got hurt, too, I think."
"Didn't seem to hinder him." Robinton kept looking up the stairs, waiting for F'lar to reappear. "And I think it's about time one of us started taking charge here, don't you."?"
"Indeed, though I think the dragonriders have it well in hand. Fax bought loyalty. His death has lost the marks they need. They'll scatter at your command."
The MasterHarper was glad enough to shed the helmet, which had worn a sore ridge around his brows.
"You'll be wanting to make your way back to Nabol or Crom or High Reaches," he said, addressing Fax's soldiers. "I don't think the dragonriders will detain you."
"Who the shard are you?" demanded the underleader whom Robinton had encountered in the barracks.
"MasterHarper Robinton, and this is my colleague, Journeyman Harper Kinsale," Robinton said in firm commanding voice.
"The MasterHarper?" the armsman repeated, dumbfounded, looking from one ragged man to the other. "Now, wait just a minute," he began, suddenly with a new lease on his authority.
Just then the drums in the tower started.
So Tuck had been here too, Robinton thought, delighted. This sort of thing could be rather a lot of fun – if it didn't involve quite so much hard physical work.
"By the Egg!" the underleader snarled. "It'll be all over if we can't silence those drums ..."
Two dragonriders immediately took positions at the stairs, hands on their knives.
"I'd advise you all to make a sudden departure," Nip-Kinsale said, nodding at C'gan, who was quick enough to pick up the message.
"Lord Groghe's men will be arriving soon enough from his border posts," Robinton added. "I spoke with them on my way here. Were I you, I'd be well gone by the time they get here."
The Master Harper of Pern Page 43