“He did,” Norik agreed blandly. “His concerns were the Weyr and its proper tithe. He felt that Fenril would provide that.”

“Was Fenril the man who let his people starve while he drank his cellar?” Bekka asked Seban.

“He was,” Norik said.

“I wouldn’t have done that,” Bekka said. “If I were Lord Holder, I’d make certain to take care of my people first.”

Seban hugged her tightly.

“So, Lady Nerra has no call to love our Weyr,” Fiona said in surmise.

“No, my lady, she does not,” Norik agreed.

Fiona felt the loathing emanating from the sullen holders around her the moment Talenth settled on the ground, long before she set foot on the clean cobblestones of the courtyard and had a moment to scan the surrounding walls.

Seban, who had been concerned with getting Bekka off Talenth’s neck without injury to child or dragon, noticed only when his daughter found herself pressed tight against him in unfocused fear.

Norik joined them, caught their feeling, and quickly noted the stance of the guards on the walls above.

“Crom hospitality leaves much to be desired if those are arrows I see pointing toward us!” the harper declared in a booming, angry voice.

“Go back to your Weyr!” a voice growled back, echoing around the walls, ominously.

“I am Fiona, formerly of Fort Weyr, now of Telgar Weyr,” Fiona called. “I have news for the Lord of this Hold.”

A huge burly man confronted her as Fiona stepped over the threshold, his arms crossed with his shield raised in front.

Fiona glanced up at him once and immediately had his measure: He was one of the faithful guards who had stood with Nerra against Fenril after the Plague.

“You must be Jefric,” she declared. She felt the man’s surprise. “We heard about you at Fort Hold.”

“You are holder bred?” a woman’s voice called from the far end of the hall.

“Yes, Lady Nerra,” Fiona replied. “My father is Lord Bemin. I am Fiona, last of his line.”

“You ride a Telgar queen?” Nerra asked in surprise, rising from her chair and moving down the hall toward Fiona.

“The only queen now at Telgar,” Norik called out from his position beyond the guard Jefric. Nerra jerked her head toward him in surprise. Sensing her wishes, Jefric stood to one side, allowing her to look directly at the rest of the group. Norik started forward, stopping to bow on one knee in front of Nerra.

“My Lady,” he said, his voice full of sorrow. “I am Norik, the last harper of Telgar Weyr.” He glanced up at her, then down again in shame. “Lord D’gan is no more.”

“He died fighting to save Pern,” Fiona said, glancing down sympathetically toward the harper. “He and all the riders and dragons of Telgar Weyr.”

Nerra’s face drained of color and she raised a hand to her eyes. “All?”