“And hunger the rest of the year,” F’lar remarked dryly, gazing out over the wide valley. Few of its fields were plowed. Its pastures supported meager herds. Even its orchards looked stunted. Blossoms that had been so profuse on trees in Crom, the next valley over, were sparse, as if reluctant to flower in so dismal a place. Although the sun was well up, there seemed to be no activity in the farmholds or none near enough to be observed. The atmosphere was one of sullen despair.

“There has been resistance to my rule of Ruatha.”

F’lar shot a look at Fax, for the man’s voice was fierce, his face bleak, auguring further unpleasantness for Ruathan rebels. The vindictiveness that colored Fax’s attitude toward Ruatha and its rebels was tinged with another strong emotion which F’lar had been unable to identify but which had been very apparent to him from the first time he had adroitly suggested this tour of the Holds. It could not be fear, for Fax was clearly fearless and obnoxiously self-assured. Revulsion? Dread? Uncertainty? F’lar could not label the nature of Fax’s compound reluctance to visit Ruatha, but the man had not relished the prospect and now reacted violently to being within these disturbing boundaries.

“How foolish of the Ruathans,” F’lar remarked amiably. Fax swung around on him, one hand poised above his sword hilt, eyes blazing. F’lar anticipated with a feeling close to pleasure that the usurper Fax might actually draw on a dragonman! He was almost disappointed when the man controlled himself, took a firm hold on the reins of his mount, and kicked it forward to a frantic run.

“I shall kill him yet,” F’lar said to himself, and Mnementh spread his wings in concord.

F’nor dropped beside his bronze leader.

“Did I see him about to draw on you?” F’nor’s eyes were bright, his smile acid.

“Until he remembered I was mounted on a dragon.”

“Watch him, bronze rider. He means to kill you soon.”

“If he can!”

“He’s considered a vicious fighter,” F’nor advised, his smile gone.

Mnementh flapped his wings again, and F’lar absently stroked the great, soft-skinned neck.

“I am at some disadvantage?” F’lar asked, stung by F’nor’s words.

“To my knowledge, no,” F’nor said quickly, startled. “I have not seen him in action, but I don’t like what I have heard. He kills often, with and without cause.”

“And because we dragonmen do not seek blood, we are not to be feared as fighters?” snapped F’lar. “Are you ashamed of being what you were bred?”

“I, no!” F’nor sucked in his breath at the tone of his leader’s voice. “And others of our wing, no! But there is that in the attitude of Fax’s men that . . . that makes me wish some excuse to fight.”

“As you remarked, we will probably have that fight. There is something here in Ruatha that unnerves our noble overlord.”

Mnementh and now Canth, F’nor’s brown, extended their wings, flapping to catch their riders’ attention.