“It may be, thanks to your prodding K’net into uncontrolled raiding,” F’nor assured her cynically. “You didn’t need him, you know. Our wing was handling it quietly. But when so much kept coming in, we cut our operations down. It’s a case of too much too soon, since the Hold Lords are getting imprudent enough to retaliate. Think, Lessa of Pern,” and F’nor leaned toward her, his smile bitter, “what R’gul’s reaction will be. You didn’t stop to think of that, did you? Think, now, what he will do when the well-armed Lords of the Hold appear, to demand satisfaction?”

Lessa closed her eyes, appalled at the scene she could picture all too clearly. She caught at her chair arm, limply sat down, undone by the knowledge she had miscalculated. Overconfident because she had been able to bring haughty Fax to his death, she was about to bring the Weyr to its ruin through that same arrogance.

There was suddenly noise enough for half the Weyr to be storming up the passageway from the ledge. She could hear the dragons calling excitedly to each other, the first outburst she had heard from them in two months.

Startled, she jumped up. Had F’lar failed to intercept K’net? Had K’net, by some horrible chance, been caught by the Lords? Together she and F’nor rushed out into the queen’s weyr.

It was not F’lar and K’net and an angry Lord—or several—in tow who entered. It was R’gul, his cautious face distorted, his eyes wide with excitement. From the outside ledge Lessa could hear Hath generating the same intense agitation. R’gul shot a quick glance at Ramoth, who slumbered on obliviously. His eyes as he approached Lessa were coldly calculating. D’nol came rushing into the weyr at a dead run, hastily buckling on his tunic. Close on his heels came S’lan, S’lel, T’bor. They all converged in a loose semicircle around Lessa.

R’gul stepped forward, arm outstretched as if to embrace her. Before Lessa could step back, for there was something in R’gul’s expression that revolted her, F’nor moved adroitly to her side, and R’gul, angry, lowered his arm.

“Hath is blooding his kill?” the brown rider asked ominously.

“Binth and Orth, too,” T’bor blurted out, his eyes bright with the curious fever that seemed to be affecting all the bronze riders.

Ramoth stirred restlessly, and everyone paused to watch her intently.

“Blood their kill?” Lessa exclaimed, perplexed but knowing that this was strangely significant.

“Call in K’net and F’lar,” F’nor ordered with more authority than a brown rider should use in the presence of bronzes.

R’gul’s laugh was unpleasant.

“No one knows where they went.”

D’nol started to protest, but R’gul cut him off with a savage gesture.