Ignoring T’reb, F’nor said to B’naj, “You’d better get out of here. She’s too close to mating.”
But the truculent T’reb would not be silenced.
“Don’t tell me how to manage my dragon, you . . .”
The insult was lost in a second volley from the dragons to which Canth now added his warble.
“Don’t be a fool, T’reb,” B’naj said. “Come! Now!”
“I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t wanted that knife. Get it and come.”
The knife B’naj had been handling lay on the floor by Terry’s foot. The Craftsman retrieved it in such a way that F’nor suddenly realized why there had been such tension in the Hall. The dragonriders had been about to confiscate the knife, an action his entrance had forestalled. He’d heard too much lately of such extortions.
“You’d better go,” he told the dragonriders, stepping in front of Terry.
“We came for the knife. We’ll leave with it,” T’reb shouted and, feinting with unexpected speed, ducked past F’nor, grabbing the knife from Terry’s hand, slicing the smith’s thumb as he drew the blade.
Again F’nor caught T’reb’s hand and twisted it, forcing him to drop the knife.
T’reb gave a gurgling cry of rage and, before F’nor could duck or B’naj could intervene, the infuriated green rider had plunged his own belt knife into F’nor’s shoulder, viciously slicing downward until the point hit the shoulder bone.
F’nor staggered back, aware of nauseating pain, aware of Canth’s scream of protest, the green’s wild bawl and the brown’s trumpeting.
“Get him out of here,” F’nor gasped to B’naj, as Terry reached out to steady him.
“Get out!” the Smith repeated in a harsh voice. He signaled urgently to the other craftsmen who now moved decisively toward the dragonmen. But B’naj yanked T’reb savagely out of the Hall.
F’nor resisted as Terry tried to conduct him to the nearest bench. It was bad enough that dragonrider should attack dragonrider, but F’nor was even more shocked that a rider should ignore his beast for the sake of a coveted bauble.
There was real urgency in the green’s shrill ululation now. F’nor willed T’reb and B’naj on their beasts and away. A shadow fell across the great portal of the Smithhall. It was Canth, crooning anxiously. The green’s voice was suddenly still.
“Are they gone?” he asked the dragon.
Well gone, Canth replied, craning his neck to catch sight of his rider. You hurt.
“I’m all right. I’m all right,” F’nor lied, relaxing into Terry’s urgent grip. In a blackening daze, he felt himself lifted, then the hard surface of bench under his back before the dizzying shock and pain overwhelmed him. His last conscious thought was that Manora would be annoyed that he had not seen Fandarel first.
CHAPTER II
Evening (Fort Weyr Time):
Meeting of the Weyrleaders at Fort Weyr
WHEN MNEMENTH burst out of between above Fort Weyr, he entered so high above the Weyr mountain that it was a barely discernible black point in the darkening land below. F’lar’s exclamation of surprise was cut off by the thin cold air that burned his lungs.
You must be calm and cool, Mnementh said, doubling his rider’s astonishment. You must command at this meeting. And the bronze dragon began a long spiral glide down to the Weyr.
F’lar knew that no admonitions could change Mnementh’s mind when he used that firm tone. He wondered at the great beast’s unexpected initiative. But the bronze dragon was right.
F’lar could accomplish little if he stormed in on T’ron and the other Weyrleaders, bent on extracting justice for his wounded Wing-second. Or if F’lar was still seething from the subtle insult implicit in the timing of this meeting. As Weyrleader of the offending rider, T’ron had delayed answering F’Iar’s courteously phrased request for a meeting of all Weyrleaders to discuss the untoward incident at the Craftmasterhall. When T’ron’s reply finally arrived, it set the meeting for the first watch, Fort Weyr time; or high night, Benden time, a most inconsiderate hour for F’lar and certainly inconvenient for the other easterly Weyrs, Igen, Ista and even Telgar. D’ram of Ista Weyr and R’mart of Telgar, and probably G’narish of Igen would have something sharp to say to T’ron about such timing, though their lag was not as great as Benden Weyr’s.
So T’ron wanted F’lar off balance and irritated. Therefore, F’lar would appear all amiability. He’d apologize to D’ram, R’mart and G’narish for inconveniencing them, while making certain that they knew T’ron was responsible.
The main issue, to F’lar’s now calm mind, was not the attack on F’nor. The real issue was the abrogation of two of the strongest Weyr restrictions; restrictions that ought to be so ingrained in any dragonrider that their fracture was impossible.
It was an absolute that a dragonrider did not take a green dragon or a queen from her Weyr when she was due to rise for mating. It made no difference whatsoever that a green dragon was sterile because she chewed firestone. Her lust could affect even the most insensitive commoners with sexual cravings. A mating female dragon broadcast her emotions on a wide band. Some green-brown pairings were as loud as bronze-gold. Herd-beasts within range stampeded wildly and fowls, wherries and whers went into witless hysterics. Humans were susceptible, too, and innocent Hold youngsters often responded with embarrassing consequences. That particular aspect of dragon matings didn’t bother weyrfolk who had long since disregarded sexual inhibitions. No, you did not take a dragon out of her Weyr in that state.
It was irrelevant to F’lar’s thinking that the second violation stemmed from the first. From the moment riders could take their dragons between, they were abjured to avoid situations that might lead to a duel, particularly since dueling was an accepted custom among Craft and Hold. Any differences between riders were settled in unarmed bouts, closely refereed within the Weyr. Dragons suicided when their riders died. And occasionally a beast panicked if his rider was badly hurt or remained unconscious for long. A berserk dragon was almost impossible to manage and a dragon’s death severely upset his entire Weyr. So armed dueling, which might injure or kill a dragon, was the most absolute proscription.
&nbs
p; Today, a Fort Weyr rider had deliberately—judging from the testimony F’lar had from Terry and the other smithcrafters present—abrogated these two basic restrictions. F’lar experienced no satisfaction that the offending rider came from Fort Weyr even if T’ron, the major critic of Benden Weyr’s relaxed attitudes toward some traditions, was in a very embarrassing position. F’lar might argue that his innovations breached no fundamental Weyr precepts, but the five Oldtime Weyrs categorically dismissed every suggestion originating from Benden Weyr. And T’ron bleated the most about the deplorable manners of modern Holders and Crafters, so different—so less subservient, F’lar amended—to the acquiescence of Holders and Crafters in their distant past Turn.
It would be interesting, F’lar mused, to see how T’ron the Traditionalist explained away the actions of his riders, now guilty of far worse offenses against Weyr traditions than anything F’lar had suggested.
Common sense had dictated F’lar’s policy—eight Turns ago—of throwing open Impressions to likely lads from Holds and Crafts; there hadn’t been enough boys of the right age in Benden Weyr to match the number of dragon eggs. If the Oldtimers would throw open the mating flights of their junior queens to bronzes from other Weyrs, they’d soon have clutches as large as the ones at Benden, and undoubtedly queen eggs, too. However, F’lar could appreciate how the Oldtimers felt. The bronze dragons at Benden and Southern Weyr were larger than most Oldtimer bronzes. Consequently, they’d fly the queens. But, by the Shell, F’lar hadn’t suggested that the senior queens be flown openly. He did not intend to challenge the Oldtimer Weyrleaders with modern bronzes. He did feel that they’d profit by new blood among their beasts. Wasn’t an improvement in dragonkind anywhere of benefit to all the Weyrs?
And it was practical diplomacy to invite Holders and Crafters to Impressions. There wasn’t a man alive in Pern who hadn’t secretly cherished the notion that he might be able to Impress a dragon. That he could be linked for life to the love and sustaining admiration of these gentle great beasts. That he could traverse Pern in a twinkling, astride a dragon. That he would never suffer the loneliness that was the condition of most men—a dragonrider always had his dragon. So, whether the commoners had a relative on the Hatching Ground hoping to attach a dragonet or not, the spectators enjoyed the vicarious thrill of being present, at witnessing this “mysterious rite.” He’d observed that they were also subtly reassured that such dazzling fortune was available to some lucky souls not bred in the Weyrs. And those bound to a Weyr should, F’lar felt, get to know the riders since those riders were responsible for their lives and livelihoods.