The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [7]
“Young and tender,” F’nor said in a bitter undertone, “from the look of it. While the stringy, barren beasts are delivered up to us.”
“Naturally.”
“A pleasantly favored Hall,” F’lar said amiably as they reached Fax. Then, seeing Fax impatient to continue, F’lar deliberately turned back to the banner-hung Hall. He pointed out to F’nor the deeply set slit windows, heavy bronze shutters open to the bright noonday sky. “Facing east, too, as they ought. That new Hall at Telgar Hold actually faces south, I’m told. Tell me, Lord Fax, do you adhere to the old practices and mount a dawn guard?”
Fax frowned, trying to parse F’lar’s meaning.
“There is always a guard at the Tower.”
“An easterly guard?”
Fax’s eyes jerked toward the windows, then back, sliding across F’lar’s face to F’nor and back again to the windows.
“There are always guards,” he answered sharply, “on all the approaches.”
“Oh, just the approaches,” and F’lar turned to F’nor and nodded wisely.
“Where else?” demanded Fax, concerned, glancing from one dragonman to the other.
“I must ask that of your harper. You do keep a trained harper in your Hold?”
“Of course. I have several trained harpers.” Fax jerked his shoulders straighter.
F’lar affected not to understand.
“Lord Fax is the overlord of six other Holds,” F’nor reminded his wingleader.
“Of course,” F’lar assented, with exactly the same inflection Fax had used a moment before.
The mimicry did not go unnoticed by Fax, but as he was unable to construe deliberate insult out of an innocent affirmative, he stalked into the glow-lit corridors. The dragonmen followed.
“It is good to see one Holder keeping so many ancient customs,” F’lar said to F’nor approvingly for Fax’s benefit as they passed into the inner Hold. “There are many who have abandoned the safety of solid rock and enlarged their outer Holds to dangerous proportions. I can’t condone the risk myself.”
“Their risk, Lord F’lar. Another’s gain,” Fax snorted derisively, slowing to a normal strut.
“Gain? How so?”
“Any outer Hold is easily penetrated, bronze rider, with trained forces, experienced leadership, and well-considered strategy.”
The man was not a braggart, F’lar decided. Nor, in these peaceful days, did he fail to mount Tower guards. However, he kept within his Hold, not out of obedience to ancient Laws, but through prudence. He kept harpers for ostentation rather than because tradition required it. But he allowed the pits to decay; he permitted grass to grow. He accorded dragonmen the barest civility on one hand and offered veiled insult on the other. A man to be watched.
The women’s quarters in Fax’s Hold had been moved from the traditional innermost corridors to those at the cliff-face. Sunlight poured down from the three double-shuttered, deep-casement windows in the outside wall. F’lar noted that the bronze hinges were well oiled. The sills were the regulation spear-length; Fax had not given in to the recent practice of diminishing the protective wall.
The chamber was richly hung with appropriately gentle scenes of women occupied in all manner of feminine tasks. Doors gave off the main chamber on both sides into smaller sleeping alcoves, and from these, at Fax’s bidding, his women hesitantly emerged. Fax sternly gestured to a blue-gowned woman, her hair white-streaked, her face lined with disappointments and bitterness, her body swollen with pregnancy. She advanced awkwardly, stopping several feet from her lord. From her attitude, F’lar deduced that she came no closer to Fax than was absolutely necessary.
“The Lady of Crom, mother of my heirs,” Fax said without pride or cordiality.
“My Lady—” F’lar hesitated, waiting for her name to be supplied.
She glanced warily at her lord.
“Gemma,” Fax snapped curtly.
F’lar bowed deeply. “My Lady Gemma, the Weyr is on Search and requests the hospitality of the Hold.”
“My Lord F’lar,” the Lady Gemma replied in a low voice, “you are most welcome.”
F’lar did not miss the slight slur on the adverb or the fact that Gemma