“The difference is that that knife had been crafted for Lord Larad of Telgar as a gift to Lord Asgenar of Lemos Hold for his wedding six days from now. The blade was not Terry’s to give or withhold. It already belonged to a Lord Holder. Therefore, the rider was…”

“Naturally you’d take the part of your rider, Benden,” T’ron cut in with a slight, unpleasant smile on his face. “But for a rider, a Weyrleader, to take the part of a Lord Holder against dragonfolk—” and T’ron turned to D’ram and G’narish with a helpless shrug of dismay.

“If R’mart were here, you’d be—” T’bor began.

D’ram gestured at him to be quiet. “We’re not discussing possession but what seems to be a grave breach of Weyr discipline,” he said in a voice that overwhelmed T’bor’s protest. “However, F’lar, you do admit that a green, off her feed from Threadscore, can suddenly go into heat without warning?”

F’lar could feel T’bor urging him to deny that possibility. He knew that he had made a mistake in pointing out that the knife had been commissioned for a Lord Holder. Or in taking the part of a holder not bound to Benden Weyr. If only R’mart had been here to speak in Lord Larad’s behalf. As it was, F’lar had prejudiced his case. The incident had disturbed D’ram so much that the man was deliberately closing his eyes to fact and seeking any extenuating circumstance he could. If F’lar forced him to see the event clearly, would he prove anything to a man unwilling to believe that dragonriders could be guilty of error? Would he get D’ram to admit that Craft and Hold had privileges, too?

He took a slow deep breath to control the frustrated anger he felt. “I have to concede that it is possible a green can go into heat without warning under those conditions.” Beside him, T’bor cursed under his breath. “But for exactly that reason, T’reb ought to have known to keep his green in the Weyr.”

“But T’reb’s a Fort Weyr rider,” T’bor began heatedly, jumping to his feet. “And I’ve been told often enough that…”

“You’re out of order, Southern,” T’ron said in a loud voice, glaring at F’lar, not T’bor. “Can’t you control your riders, F’lar?”

“That is quite enough, T’ron,” D’ram cried, on his feet.

As the two Oldtimers locked glances, F’lar murmured urgently to T’bor, “Can’t you see he’s trying to anger us? Don’t lose control!”

“We’re trying to settle the incident, T’ron,” D’ram continued forcefully, “not complicate it with irrelevant personalities. Since you are involved in this business, perhaps I’d better conduct the meeting. With your permission, of course, Fort.”