“I don’t believe the Weyrs can remain autonomous these days,” F’lar said, discarding all the ringing, smooth words he’d been rehearsing. “We nearly lost Pern seven Turns ago because dragonmen lost touch with the rest of the world; we’ve seen what happens when dragonman loses touch with dragonman. We need open mating flights, the exchange of bronzes and queens between Weyrs to strengthen Blood and improve the breed. We need to rotate the wings so riders get to know each other’s Weyrs and territories. A man grows stale, careless, riding over ground he knows too well. We need public Impressions…”

They could all hear the rumble of greetings and the scuffling of heavy boots in the corridor.

“Ista Weyr followed Benden Weyr yesterday,” D’ram interrupted him, his slow smile reaching his dark eyes. “But have a care which traditions you overset. Some cannot be discarded with impunity…”

They rose then as Lord Holders and Craftmasters strode into the weyr. Lord Asgenar, Mastersmith Fandarel and his wood Craftmaster, Bendarek, were first; Lord Oterel of Tillek Hold and Meron, Lord Holder of Nabol, his fire-lizard squawking on his arm, arrived together, but Lord Oterel immediately sought Fandarel. A restless, eager atmosphere began to build, palpable with questions unanswered the previous evening. As soon as most were assembled, F’lar led the way into the Council Room. No sooner had the Weyrleaders ranged themselves behind him, facing the gathering of Lords and Craftsmen, than Larad, Lord of Telgar Hold, rose.

“Weyrleader, have you established where the next Thread is likely to fall?”

“Where you’ve evidently placed it, Lord Larad, on the western plains of Telgar Hold and Ruatha Hold.” F’lar nodded toward Lord Warder Lytol of Ruatha. “Probably later today. It’s early hours now in that part of the country and we don’t intend to hold you here long…”

“And how long will we have riders assigned us?” asked Lord Corman of Keroon, staring pointedly at D’ram on F’lar’s left.

“Until every Hold and Craft has an efficient communications system.”

“I’ll need men,” Mastersmith Fandarel rumbled from his cramped position in the far corner. “Do you all really want those flame throwers you’ve been plaguing me for?”

“Not if the dragonmen come when we call.” It was Lord Sangel of Boll Hold who answered, his face grim, his voice bitter.

“Is Telgar Weyr prepared to ride today?” Lord Larad went on, still holding the floor.

M’rek, the Telgar Weyr Wing-second, rose, glanced hesitantly at F’lar, cleared his throat and then nodded.

“High Reaches Weyr will fly with Telgar riders!” T’bor said.

“And Ista!” D’ram added.

The unexpected unanimity sent a murmurous ripple through the meeting, as Lord Larad sat down.

“Will we have to burn the forests?” Lord Asgenar of Lemos rose to his feet. The quiet question was the plea of a proud man.