“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.