The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [62]
Where did that piercing cold come from, Larad wondered. He yanked down on his beast’s mouth as it began to plunge again.
The dragonmen just sat there on their beasts’ necks, watching, waiting.
“Get them off their beasts and the things away so we can talk,” Meron shouted to Larad as his mount cavorted and screamed in terror.
Larad signaled foot soldiers forward, but it took four men per mount to quiet them enough so the Lords could dismount.
Miscalculation number two, Larad thought with grim humor. We forgot the effect of dragons on the beasts of Pern. Man included. Settling his sword, pulling his gloves up onto his wrists, he jerked his head at the other Lords, and they all moved forward.
As he saw the Lords dismount, F’lar told Mnementh to pass the word to land the first three ranks. Like a great wave, the dragons obediently settled to the ground, furling their wings with an enormous rustling sigh.
Mnementh told F’lar that the dragons were excited and pleased. This was much more fun than Games.
F’lar told Mnementh sternly that this was not fun at all.
“Larad of Telgar,” the foremost man introduced himself, his voice crisp, his manner soldierly and confident for one relatively young.
“Meron of Nabol.”
F’lar immediately recognized the swarthy face with the sharp features and restless eyes. A mean and provocative fighter.
Mnementh relayed F’lar an unusual message from the Weyr. F’lar nodded imperceptibly and continued to acknowledge introductions.
“I have been appointed spokesman,” Larad of Telgar began. “The Holder Lords unanimously agree that the Weyr has outlived its function. Consequently demands from the Weyr are out of order. There are to be no more Searches among our Holds. No more raiding on the herds and barns of any Hold by any dragonfolk.”
F’lar gave him courteous attention. Larad was well-spoken and succinct. F’lar nodded. He looked at each of the Lords before him carefully, getting their measure. Their stern faces expressed their conviction and righteous indignation.
“As Weyrleader, I, F’lar, Mnementh’s rider, answer you. Your complaint is heard. Now listen to what the Weyrleader commands.” His casual pose was gone. Mnementh rumbled a menacing counterpoint to his rider’s voice as it rang harshly metallic across the plateau, the words carried clearly back so that even the mob heard him.
“You will turn and go back to your Holds. You will then go into your barns and among your herds. You will make a just and equable tithe. This will be on its way to the Weyr within three days of your return.”
“The Weyrleader is ordering the Lords to tithe?” Meron of Nabol’s derisive laugh rang out.
F’lar signaled, and two more wings of dragonmen appeared to hover over the Nabolese contingent.
“The Weyrleader gives orders to the Lords to tithe,” F’lar affirmed. “And until such time as the Lords do send their tithings, we regret that the ladies of Nabol, Telgar, Fort, Igen, Keroon must make their homes with us. Also, the ladies of Hold Balan, Hold Gar, Hold . . .”
He paused, for the Lords were muttering angrily and excitedly among themselves as they heard this list of hostages. F’lar gave Mnementh a quick message to relay.
“Your bluff won’t work,” Meron sneered, stepping forward, his hand on his sword hilt. Raiding among the herds could be credited; it had happened. But the Holds were sacrosanct! They’d not dare—
F’lar asked Mnementh to pass the signal, and T’sum’s wing appeared. Each rider held a Lady on the neck of his dragon. T’sum held his group aloft but close enough so the Lords could identify each scared or hysterical woman.
Meron’s face contorted with shock and new hatred.
Larad stepped forward, tearing his eyes from his own Lady. She was a new wife to him and much beloved. It was small consolation that she neither wept nor fainted,