The Smith turned the switch to the receive position and looked expectantly at F’lar. At that moment, Mnementh gave a squall from the heights. He and all the dragons began to extend their wings. The mass movement blotted out the sun which was lowering over the Telgar Cliffs and sent shadows over the guests to still their chatter.

Groghe told the Lords that T’ron has found a distance-viewer at Fort. He has seen the Red Star through it. They are upset. Be warned, said Mnementh.

The doors of the Great Hall swung wide and the Lord Holders came striding out. One look at Lord Groghe’s face confirmed Mnementh’s report. The Lord Holders ranged themselves on the steps, in a solid front against the dragonmen gathered in the corner. Lord Groghe had lifted his arm, pointed it accusingly at F’lar, when a disconcerting hiss split the pregnant silence.

“Look!” the Smith bellowed and all eyes followed his hand as the distance-writer began receiving a message.

“ ‘Igen Hold reports Thread falling. Transmission broken off midsentence.’ ”

Robinton reported the sounds as they were printed, his voice growing hoarser and less confident with each word.

“What nonsense is this?” Lord Groghe demanded, his florid face brick-red as attention was diverted from his proposed announcement. “Thread fell in the High Reaches at noon yesterday. How could it fall at Igen Hold this evening? What the Shells is that contraption?”

“I don’t understand,” G’narish protested loudly, staring up at Lord Laudey of Igen Hold who stood in stunned horror on the steps. “I’ve sweepriders on constant patrol…”

The dragons bugled on the heights just as a green burst into the air over the court, causing the crowd to scream and duck, scurrying to the walls for safety.

Threads fall at Igen southwest, came the message loud and clear. To be echoed by the dragonriders in the court.

“Where are you going, F’lar?” bellowed Lord Groghe as the Benden Weyrleader followed G’narish’s plunge to the Gate. The air was full of dragon wings now, the screams of frightened women counterpointing the curses of men.

“To fight Thread at Igen, of course,” F’lar shouted back.

“Igen’s my problem,” G’narish cried, halting and wheeling toward F’lar, but there was gratitude, not rebuke in his surprised face.

“G’narish, wait! Where in Igen?” Lord Laudey was demanding. He pushed past the infuriated Lord Groghe to catch up with his Weyrleader.

“And Ista? Is the island in danger?” Lord Warbret wanted to know.

“We’ll go and see,” D’ram reassured him, taking his arm and urging him toward the Gate.

“Since when has Benden Weyr concerned itself with Igen and Ista?” T’ron planted himself squarely in F’lar’s way. The menace in his voice carried to the steps of the Hall. His belligerent stance, obstructing the way to the Gate, halted them all. “And rushed to Nabol’s aid?”