At a signal, his men began to advance on the group of Lord Holders and Harpers.
“Careful, you at the door,” Fax said, raising his voice. “Don’t want you trampled in the rush!”
Tarathel looked about to burst, Groghe was livid with rage, Oterel dead white. With stately dignity they turned smartly about and walked in a measured tread out of the Hall, down the steps and across the narrow courtyard to their waiting mounts. If the runner-beasts tossed their heads, sidled and shied, it was because their riders communicated their fury and humiliation to them. Big Black twice tried to rear, and kicked out when another animal came close enough. Robinton was sure he would burst a blood vessel before they got halfway to the Nabol border.
Once there, the Lord Holders made their way back to Fort Hold.
Aware that they were being followed – and that they were meant to know they were being followed – they stopped only to rest and water their mounts and eat travel rations from their saddles, both grateful and furious that they had no opportunity to vent their bottled-up emotions until they were back on safe lands.
What Robinton noticed, to keep his sanity, was the difference in the very atmosphere as soon as they had forded the Red River.
Even the runner-beasts, weary though they were, seemed to pick up. Just at the last, as a final insult, their followers made a charge which startled the last few runners crossing the river. Fax’s men lined the bank, laughing and calling insults across the water. With those final reminders of their opprobrious rout ringing in their ears, the Lord Holders continued down the Fort road to the nearest border post.
There, at last, they could give vent to their repressed feelings and argue that they should have come in force, with enough men to show Fax that they meant business about meeting any further aggression with equal force and its defeat.
Robinton, food and drink in his hands, could no longer listen to such useless ranting and wandered off far enough to avoid hearing a recapitulation of what ought to have been said, or done, or implied, or threatened. He felt that, considering the large contingent of armed men which Fax had around him, they had been lucky indeed not to be harmed – except in pride and dignity. Such a delegation had been futile from the outset and only let them in for ridicule, but some show of protest had to be made! That much he knew. If only R’gul had been willing to let them ride dragons to Nabol, their retreat would not have proved such a mortification of their intent. But R’gul had denied them the convenience of dragons, saying he knew only too well what Fax’s opinion of dragonriders was and had no intention of jeopardizing another dragon and rider. Robinton had argued against confronting Fax at all. Not from a lack of courage, but from a desire to avoid what had happened: Fax’s contemptuous disregard of their condemnation.
As if Fax cared a straw in the wind!
“Bad idea all told,” a voice said at his elbow, almost causing him to drop the klah and his food. They were taken out of his hand by filthy fingers. “You can get more, and I’m starving of the hunger.
Haven’t had a drink in three days. Should have tried to persuade them out of such a meeting, Rob. Fax is still laughing.”
“Where were you, Nip?” asked Robinton, regaining his composure.
He should have known Nip would have witnessed the whole sorry episode.
“Where I could see.” The spy shook his head as he gobbled food almost without chewing. He took a sip of the wine and swallowed his mouthful.
“I’ll filch some more for your trip back,” Robinton told him.
“That is, if you’re going back?”
“Oh, I’m needed where I will be by morning more than ever, I assure you.” Nip crammed the rest of the roll into his mouth, rolling his eyes at his own greedy hunger and chewing vigorously.
He took the last sip and handed the cup back to Robinton, almost regretfully. “There’s more where you got that, isn’t there?”