The Lord of Lemos Hold nodded, his eyes sparkling. “No burrows on the entire slope.” He turned in triumph to the one man who seemed dubious and said, “Can you doubt the evidence of your eyes, Lord Groghe?”

The ruddy-faced Lord of Fort Hold shook his head slowly.

“C’mon, man,” said the white-haired man with the prominent, hooked nose. “What more proof do you need? You’ve seen the same thing on lower Keroon, you’ve seen it in Telgar Valley. Even that idiot Vincet of Nerat Hold has capitulated.”

Groghe of Fort Hold shrugged, indicating a low opinion of Vincet, Lord Holder of Nerat.

“I just can’t put any trust in a handful of squirming insects. Relying on dragons makes sense.”

“But you’ve seen grubs devour Thread!” F’lar persisted. His patience with the man was wearing thin.

“It isn’t right for a man,” and Groghe drew himself up, “to be grateful to grubs!”

“I don’t recall your being overgrateful to dragonkind either,” Asgenar reminded him with pointed malice.

“I don’t trust grubs!” Groghe repeated, jutting his chin out at a belligerent angle. The golden fire-lizard on his shoulder crooned softly and rubbed her down-soft head against his cheek. The man’s expression softened slightly. Then he recalled himself and glared at F’lar. “Spent my whole life trusting dragonkind. I’m too old to change. But you’re running the planet now. Do as you will. You will anyhow!”

He stalked away, toward the waiting brown dragon who was Fort Hold’s resident messenger. Groghe’s fire-lizard extended her golden wings, crooning as she balanced herself against his jolting strides.

Lord Corman of Keroon fingered his large nose and blew it out briskly. He had a disconcerting habit of unblocking his ears that way. “Old fool. He’ll use grubs. He’ll use them. Just can’t get used to the idea that it’s no good wanting to go to the Red Star and blasting Thread on its home ground. Groghe’s a fighter. Doesn’t sit well with him to barricade his Hold, as it were, and wait out the siege. He likes to charge into things, straighten them out his way.”

“The Weyrs appreciate your help, Lord Corman,” F’lar began.

Corman snorted, blew out his ears again before waving aside F’lar’s gratitude. “Common sense. Protect the ground. Our ancestors were a lot smarter than we are.”

“I don’t know about that,” Asgenar said, grinning.

“I do, young fellow,” Corman retorted decisively. Then added hesitantly, “How’s F’nor? And what’s his name—Canth.”