The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [19]
“Here!” Fax changed the subject with a roar. “Food!”
Five drudges, two of them women in such grimy brown-gray rags that F’lar hoped they had had nothing to do with the preparation of the meal, staggered in under the emplattered herdbeast. No one with so much as a trace of power would sink to such depths, unless . . .
The aroma that reached him as the platter was placed on the serving table distracted him. It reeked of singed bone and charred meat. Even the pitcher of klah being passed smelled bad. The Warder frantically sharpened his tools as if a keen edge could somehow slice acceptable portions from this unlikely carcass.
The Lady Gemma caught her breath again, and F’lar saw her hands curl tightly around the armrests. He saw the convulsive movement of her throat as she swallowed. He, too, did not look forward to this repast.
The drudges reappeared with wooden trays of bread. Burnt crusts had been scraped and cut, in some places, from the loaves before serving. As other trays were borne in, F’lar tried to catch sight of the faces of the servitors. Matted hair obscured the face of the one who presented Lady Gemma with a dish of legumes swimming in greasy liquid. Revolted, F’lar poked through the legumes to find properly cooked portions to offer Lady Gemma. She waved them aside, her face ill concealing her discomfort.
As F’lar was about to turn and serve Lady Tela, he saw Lady Gemma’s hand clutch convulsively at the chair arms. He realized then that she was not merely nauseated by the unappetizing food. She was seized with the onslaught of labor contractions.
F’lar glanced in Fax’s direction. The overlord was scowling blackly at the attempts of the Warder to find edible portions of meat to serve.
F’lar touched Lady Gemma’s arms with light fingers. She turned her face just enough so that she could see F’lar out of the corner of her eye. She managed a socially correct half-smile.
“I dare not leave just now, Lord F’lar. He is always dangerous at Ruatha. And it may only be false pangs . . . at my age.”
F’lar was dubious as he saw another shudder pass through her frame. The woman would have been a fine Weyrwoman, he thought ruefully, if she were younger.
The Warder, his hands shaking, presented Fax the sliced meats, slivers of overdone flesh, portions of almost edible meats, but not much of either.
One furious wave of Fax’s broad fist and the Warder had the plate, meats and juice, square in the face. Despite himself, F’lar sighed, for those undoubtedly constituted the only edible portions of the entire beast.
“You call this food? You call this food?” Fax bellowed. His voice boomed back from the bare vault of the ceiling, shaking crawlers from their webs as the sound shattered the fragile strands. “Slop! Slop!”
F’lar rapidly brushed crawlers from the Lady Gemma, who was helpless in the throes of a very strong contraction.
“It’s all we had on such short notice,” the Warder squealed, bloody juices streaking down his cheeks. Fax threw the goblet at him, and the wine went streaming down the man’s chest The steaming dish of roots followed, and the man yelped as the hot liquid splashed over him.
“My Lord, my Lord, had I but known!”
“Obviously, Ruatha cannot support the visit of its Lord. You must renounce it,” F’lar heard himself saying.
His shock at such words issuing from his mouth was as great as that of everyone else in the Hall. Silence fell, broken by the splat of crawlers and the drip of root liquid from the Warder’s shoulders to the rushes. The grating of Fax’s boot heel was clearly audible as he swung slowly around to face the bronze rider.
As F’lar conquered his own amazement and rapidly tried to predict what to do next to mend matters, he saw F’nor rise slowly to his feet, hand on dagger hilt.
“I did not hear you correctly?” Fax asked, his face blank of all expression, his eyes snapping.
Unable to comprehend how he could have uttered such an arrant challenge, F’lar managed to assume a languid pose.
“You did mention, my Lord,” he drawled, “that if any