Mnementh transferred them between and the cold of that awful nothingness made his bones ache. Then they emerged over the Benden Weyr Star Stones and answered the watchrider’s query.

Lessa wasn’t going to like his report of the meeting, F’lar thought. If only D’ram, usually an honest thinker, had seen past the obvious. He had a feeling that maybe G’narish had.

Yes, G’narish had been troubled. Maybe the next time the Weyrleaders met to confer, G’narish might side with the modern riders.

Only, F’lar hoped, there wouldn’t be another occasion for this evening’s grievance.

CHAPTER III

Morning Over Lemos Hold

RAMOTH, BENDEN’S GOLDEN queen, was in the Hatching Ground when she got the green’s frantic summons from Lemos Hold.

Threads at Lemos. Thread falls at Lemos! Ramoth told every dragon and rider, her full-throated brassy bugle reverberating through the Bowl.

Men scrambled frantically from couch and bathing pool, upset tables and dropped tools before the first echo had rolled away. F’lar, idly watching the weyrlings drill, was dressed for fighting since the Weyr had expected to be at Lemos Hold late that day. Mnementh, his magnificent bronze, sunning himself on a ledge, swooped down at such a rate that he gouged a narrow trench in the sand of the floor with his left wingtip. F’lar was atop his neck and they were circling to the Eye Rock before Ramoth had had time to stamp out of the Hatching Cavern.

Thread at Lemos northeast, Mnementh reported, picking up the information from his mate Ramoth as she projected herself toward her weyr ledge for Lessa. Dragons were now streaming from every weyr opening, their riders struggling into fighting gear or securing bulging firesacks.

F’lar didn’t waste time wondering why Thread was falling hours ahead of schedule or northeast instead of southwest. He checked to see if there were enough riders assembled and aloft to make up a full low altitude wing. He hesitated long enough to have Mnementh order every weyrling to proceed immediately to Lemos to help fly ground crews to the area and then told his dragon to take the wing between.

Thread was indeed falling, a great sheet plummeting down toward the delicate new leafing hardwoods that were Lord Asgenar’s prime forestry project. Screaming, flaming, dragons broke out of between, skimming the spring forest to get quick bearings before they soared up to meet the attack.

Incredibly, F’lar believed they had actually managed to beat Thread to the forest. That green’s rider would have his choice of anything in F’lar’s power to give. The thought of Thread in those hardwood stands chilled the Weyrleader more thoroughly than an hour between.