“Adjourned?” G’narish echoed him in surprise. “But—but nothing’s been done.” The Igen Weyrleader looked from D’ram to T’ron puzzled, worried. “And F’lar’s rider was wounded. If the attack was…”

“How badly wounded is the man?” D’ram asked, turning quickly to F’lar.

“Now you ask!” cried T’bor.

“Fortunately,” and F’lar held T’bor’s angry eyes in a stern, warning glance before turning to D’ram to answer, “the wound is not serious. He will not lose the use of the arm.”

G’narish sucked his breath in with a whistle. “I thought he’d only been scratched. I think we…”

“When a rider’s dragon is lustful—” D’ram began, but broke off when he caught sight of the naked fury on T’bor’s face, the set look on F’lar’s. “A dragonrider can never forget his purpose, his responsibility, to his dragon or to his Weyr. This can’t happen again. You’ll speak to T’reb, of course, T’ron?”

T’ron’s eyes widened slightly at D’ram’s question.

“Speak to him? You may be sure he’ll hear from me about this. And B’naj, too.”

“Good,” said D’ram, with the air of a man who has solved a difficult problem equitably. He nodded toward the others. “It would be wise if we Weyrleaders caution all our riders against the possibility of a repetition. Put them all on their guard. Agreed?” He continued nodding, as if to spare the others the effort. “It is hard enough to work with some of these arrogant holders and crafters without giving them any occasion to fault us.” D’ram sighed deeply and scratched his head. “I never have understood how commoners can forget how much they owe dragonriders!”

“In four hundred Turns, a man can learn many new things,” F’lar replied. “Coming, T’bor?” and his tone was just short of command. “My greetings to your Weyrwomen, riders. Good night.”

He strode from the Council Room, T’bor pounding right behind him, swearing savagely until they got to the outer passageway to the Weyr ledge.

“That old fool was in the wrong, F’lar, and you know it!”

“Obviously.”

“Then why didn’t you…”

“Rub his nose in it?” F’lar finished, halting in mid-stride and turning to T’bor in the dark of the passageway.

“Dragonriders don’t fight. Particularly Weyrleaders.”

T’bor let out a violent exclamation of utter disgust.

“How could you let a chance like that go by? When I think of the times he’s criticized you—us—” T’bor broke off. “Never understand how commoners can forget all they owe dragonriders?” and T’bor mimicked D’ram’s pompous intonation, “If they really want to know…”

F’lar gripped T’bor by the shoulder, appreciating the younger man’s sentiments all too deeply.