Dragonflight by Anne McCaffrey Read Free Book Online Page A

dragons roared. F’lar felt the unmistakable surge of power. His eyes instinctively sought F’nor at the lower table. The brown rider, all the dragonmen, had experienced that inexplicable shaft of exultation.
    “What’s wrong, dragonman?” snapped Fax.
    F’lar, affecting unconcern, stretched his legs under the table and assumed an indolent posture in the heavy chair.
    “Wrong?”
    “The dragons!”
    “Oh, nothing. They often roar . . . at the sunset, at a flock of passing wherries, at mealtimes,” and F’lar smiled amiably at the Lord of the High Reaches. Beside him his tablemate gave a little squeak.
    “Mealtimes? Have they not been fed?”
    “Oh, yes. Five days ago.”
    “Oh. Five . . . days ago? And are they hungry . . . now?” Her voice trailed into a whisper of fear, her eyes grew round.
    “In a few days,” F’lar assured her. Under cover of his detached amusement, F’lar scanned the Hall. That surge had come from nearby. Either in the Hall or just without it. It must have been from within. It came so soon upon Fax’s speech that his words must have triggered it. F’lar saw that F’nor and the other dragonmen were surreptitiously searching every face in the Hall. Fax’s soldiers could be disqualified, and the Warder’s men. And the power had an indefinably feminine touch to it.
    One of Fax’s women? F’lar found that hard to credit. Mnementh had been close to all of them, and none had shown a vestige of power, much less—with the exception of Lady Gemma—any intelligence.
    One of the Hall women? So far he had seen only the sorry drudges and the aging females the Warder had as housekeepers. The Warder’s personal woman? He must discover if that man had one. One of the Hold guards’ women? F’lar suppressed an intense desire to rise and search.
    “You mount a guard?” he asked Fax casually.
    “Double at Ruath Hold!” he was told in a tight, hard voice, ground out from somewhere deep in Fax’s chest.
    “Here?” F’lar all but laughed out loud, gesturing around the sadly appointed chamber.
    “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