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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
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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?"
"I'll get you - and me - more," Robinton said. He slipped back into the camp
and helped himself to a skin, as well as a saddlebag full of travel meat roll.
Everyone was so busy trying to air their own hindsight wisdom that no one
noticed him sneaking in and out.
"Here--' And he stopped, seeing Nip propped against a tree fast asleep.
He sat down, hoping the courageous little man would rouse to
tell him what he had in mind. The gleam in Nip's eyes had suggested that his
devious mind had already thought of several interesting ways to harass Fax.
Robinton was almost half-asleep himself when he heard his name called. So he
left the wine-skin and the full bag of food and retraced his steps.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Some good did come of that disagreeable confrontation with Fax.
MasterSmith Fandarel withdrew all Masters from the "seven holds'. Other
CraftMasters followed that example. Fax had been too busy congratulating
himself over the acquisition of Ruatha
Hold to realize what was happening. Now he complained bitterly, offering
inducements to the Masters to return. Nor did he dare retaliate against those
journeymen who remained: as many as could do so had slipped away before he
knew they had left. Even the
MasterMiner at Crom had removed himself and set up a new headquarters for his
Craft in one of the SmithHalls at Telgar. Despite substantial rewards, Master
Idarolan, who had succeeded Gostol as
MasterFishman, refused to lay any keels for Fax to replace the ships which had
so mysteriously disappeared from the High
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