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second in such a fashion. Outside, dragons bellowed.
    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.
    â€œDon’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.
    â€œDon’t be a fool, T’reb,” B’naj said. “Come! Now!”
    â€œI 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.
    â€œYou’d better go,” he told the dragonriders, stepping in front of Terry.
    â€œWe 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.
    â€œGet him out of here,” F’nor gasped to B’naj, as Terry reached out to steady him.
    â€œGet 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.
    â€œAre they gone?” he asked the dragon.
    Well gone,
Canth replied, craning his neck to catch sight of his rider.
You hurt.
    â€œI’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
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    Evening (Fort Weyr Time):
    Â 
    Meeting of the Weyrleaders at Fort Weyr
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    W HEN M NEMENTH 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